


Every Passage Is a Spiral

by FasterPuddyTat



Series: A Brief Interlude in Red and Blue [5]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Crew as Family, Destroy Ending, Dirty Talk, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Outer Space, Post-Canon, Post-Mass Effect 3, Sentinel (Mass Effect), Sole Survivor (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPuddyTat/pseuds/FasterPuddyTat
Summary: The joint Hierarchy and Alliance fleet has left Sol. Their mission: to repair the shattered relay system, return allies to their homeworlds, and seek out new worlds off the Reaper's path. Shepard and the crew of the Normandy lead the reconnaissance fleet, and it will take everything they have to see the mission through.Sequel to Exit Music for the War.





	1. Meet Dr. Singh

_You really can get used to anything,_ Shepard thought as she vented her oxygen. Her eyes cleared in a few seconds, and she resealed the O2 line. With the great dark beyond at her back, she tightened the last bolt, closed the hatch, and sailed across the hull to the airlock. Tali nodded to her as she passed and reached for the blade floating at the end of its tether. Once it was secure, she followed Shepard across the Normandy. Only when they were safe within the confines of her ship did Shepard chance a sweep of the surrounding void. A shiver ran down her spine, and she palmed the controls.

The hiss of pressurization sounded through the muffle of her suit. She filled her lungs with the vague stink of sulphur and charred meat as she shucked her helmet off, the first deep breath of the afternoon. God _damn_ she loved that smell. She glanced at Tali, busy with her tool belt and the collection of debris they’d pulled from the ship. She offered a hand, but Tali smacked it away with a grin. 

“I’m fine.” She tilted her head to the hardcase. “Take that to the tech lab. I need to run more tests, but I’m pretty sure those are alive.”

“Alive? In space?”

Tali nodded. “Whatever it is, it got past our shields, attached to the hull, and did no damage the ship in the process.”

“Tali. Are you telling me that my ship has space barnacles?” She didn’t know if that was hilarious, or disgusting. 

“That didn’t translate. I need them in the isolation pod in the tech lab; set the temp to minus one-fifty. I’ll be around in a minute.” She hung the belt on the wall and opened her omni-tool. Shepard grabbed the case and opened the door to the rest of the Normandy.

The shock of air and light and life was always sweet after the absolute silence of space. She nodded to Joker and EDI, pausing on the bridge to let all five of her senses tamp the greatly increased input down to a familiar roar. Her expression fell to its default this-better-be-serious setting as she walked through the CIC to the retrofitted tech lab. Traynor signaled that she had messages as she walked by, and Shepard nodded in thanks. The lab doors swished open when she approached, Garrus tilting his head in welcome as she swept by.

The doors closed, and he leaned on the workbench as she set up the isolation pod. “You used a lot of oxygen out there, Shepard. You okay?”

She grunted, fiddling with the temp settings. Of course he’d been monitoring her. “Fine. Had some contamination in my helmet, couldn’t see for a second.” She felt his eyes boring into the back of her head. She deflated slightly. She wouldn’t fool him, between his police work and that damn visor. “Okay, not fine, but I can handle it.”

“Hm. Well, I’m here if you need me. Or, you have an appointment with Singh in fifteen…”

She transferred the case and sealed the iso-pod around it. “Have you checked in on him? He’s set up in starboard observation?”

“He is. You should see what he’s done with the place. I want to sign up for a session, and I’m not even human. Have you looked over his file?"

“Not yet, but Hackett told me he’s one of the best. Well, the best of those willing to join us on this little jaunt, anyway. The line didn’t exactly stretch around the block.” She pushed her hands into the attached gloves to open the hardcase. Its contents looked no different than they had on the external cameras, nondescript grey rocks, flat on the side they’d attached to the ship. She stared through them, lost in the moment her eyes had started watering out there. Garrus thrummed a low note and shook her from its grip. “Why are you babysitting me, anyway? Don’t you have something to calibrate?”

“Just checking in. Or did you forget that was your first space walk since…”

“The Citadel.” She stepped away from the iso-pod and turned to him. He was still leaning on the bench, his posture relaxed and engaged at once. _Good cop with reluctant victim,_ a cynical voice whispered. _Stuff it,_ she snapped back. She went to him. He wrapped an arm around her and lowered his forehead to hers. “Thank you,” she said. 

He rumbled, pleased. “You know I have your back, Sloane.”

EDI chimed and Shepard groaned, the moment lost. “Commander Shepard, Admiral Hackett for you on the vid comm.”

“Thank you, EDI,” she said. She nudged his head away. “Looks like Dr. Singh will have to wait.” She sighed. 

“It’s always something,” he said. She ran her hand down his arm as she left, a squeeze of his talons before the reluctant, inevitable break in contact. His gaze rested warm on her as she disappeared into the comm room. 

She activated the comm and stiffened, shoulders square and hands clasped at her lower back. Hackett fuzzed into being, a sharp nod acknowledging her. “Admiral,” she said.

“Commander. We have word from Sur’Kesh that they have completed repairs on their mass relay. They are requesting that we divert to Exodus, then meet them at Horsehead to connect Sur’Kesh with Earth. Victus has already ordered the turian fleets to come about, and we agreed that the Normandy should scout ahead. I’ve sent the coordinates to EDI. We’re waiting on your mark, Shepard.”

She took a moment. “We were wrapping up minor repairs, and I have something I think our scientists will be interested in. It can wait until we’ve arrived in Exodus. Mark in ten.”

“Thank you, Shepard. Hackett out.”

She waited until the comm was silent, then blew a stream of air through pursed lips. _Fucking detours._ She left for the bridge.

———

Joy looked up from the glow of her omni-tool, inscrutable. Shepard grinned. “That good, huh?”

“I don’t know how you’ve done it, Sloane, but your right leg is almost even with your left today.” She allowed a half smile. “The miracles of modern medicine.”

“You can thank Miranda for that. And Cerberus, I guess, but they’re not really around anymore…”

“I’ve heard of this Miranda, and her sister. They worked in the research wing at the hospital.” She closed her omni-tool to focus fully on her patient. “She’s only half to blame, though. I’ve seen you here in the shuttle bay, sparring with Vega, working on your tango with Garrus and Cortez. Keep that up, and I’ll be wondering when my Earth transfer papers will show.”

Shepard shook her head. “Oh no, you’re not getting out that easily. Even if I don’t need you, there are plenty of other soldiers in the fleet who do. Hackett has a fully equipped gym on the Ranger, and private quarters with your name on them. Clear me for ground missions, and they’re yours.”

Joy looked skeptical. “Are you trying to bribe me, Sloane?”

Shepard feigned offense. “Me? Bribe? Pff, I’m wounded, Joy! To my very soul!” She leaned forward, her voice silky. “Think about it, though. A door you can lock, your own toilet…”

“A treadmill I don’t have to break down after every session, an endless supply of clean towels…” 

“Yes, yes, good. Embrace the possibilities, young Gannett. Let them flow through you.” She sputtered, and they both cracked up. 

“Alright alright,” Joy said once she’d caught her breath, “you still have some work to do, but we’re very close. Stay on track, and you’ll be combat ready in a few weeks.” She sobered, and Shepard could see the gears turning behind her clear brown eyes. “If, you want to go back, to that?”

Shepard regarded her. Joy was one of the strongest people she knew, but she was no soldier. “I do. It’s… what I am.” She bit her lip. “Garrus and I, we talk about retiring, living on a beach, kids. The talk keeps us going, but…” she ran a hand through her hair. The words didn’t come.

“But there’s a lot left to do,” Joy said. Shepard nodded. Joy took a deep breath. “I won’t pretend to understand, Sloane.” Shepard hummed. “So I’ll just be grateful that of all the planets, in all the galaxies, in all the universe, you walked in to mine.” 

Shepard snorted laughing. “Oh, Joy. I think we had the same Gran. Always with those old black and white vids.”

“They were so grainy, and they always skipped at the worst possible times—”

“The kissing scenes!” Shepard swept herself off her feet, swooning in imaginary arms while Joy doubled over, cackling.

“Okay Sloane,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Get out of here. You’re not canceling on Singh again if I can help it.” She settled, sighing. “I know your wily ways, lady. You’re being extra entertaining because something is bothering you.” Shepard groaned. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. You really should keep this appointment, though. I think you’ll like him. He’s… not what I expected.”

Shepard shot her a quizzical look. “How so?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Now get, before I call your _boyfriend_ to escort you over there.”

———

The door to starboard observation swished open. Shepard blinked. A rich tapestry hung from ceiling to floor, geometric designs picked out in violet, scarlet, and gold. It created a narrow hall that she entered softly, drawn to the whisper of pleasure she might find in touching the lush cloth. It didn’t disappoint. She trailed her fingers along the velvet wall and turned the corner to find the observatory changed completely. Gone was the standard issue furniture, in its place an overstuffed chair, an elegant chaise, and groups of large, embroidered cushions scattered in the corners. The harsh overhead lights were off, the room bathed in an amber glow cast by a motley collection of lamps. Heavy curtains covered the window, their design similar to the hall tapestry. She smelled mint and something floral, familiar through she couldn’t place it. She sat on the edge of the chaise, not completely at ease but getting there fast.

A deep voice greeted her, accented in the poshest RP she’d heard outside a BBC newsflash. “Commander Shepard,” it said, “delighted to make your acquaintance at last.” Dr. Singh appeared from behind a different tapestry. He was younger than she'd expected, only a few years out of grad school by her guess. His ocher turban seemed to glow against his dark skin, a bright compliment to his beautifully tailored navy blue suit. She looked past his slim frame and noticed a heavy desk, covered in datapads and papers. He held two mugs, and she studied his open face as he handed one to her. His cheekbones rose high over a full, neat beard; his almond-shaped eyes, nearly black in the low light, rested soft below straight brows. She breathed in, mint tea. “I hope you find my office acceptable. My patients have often needed a session to adjust…”

Shepard sipped her tea. “It’s one of the most beautiful rooms I’ve ever been in. Acceptable? Hell, I’d commission you to do my quarters if I thought I could afford you.”

Amusement twitched his lips. “Deflecting with humor already, Commander?”

She smiled. “Old habits, doc.” Leaning into the chaise, she rested the tea on her thigh and asked, “Oxford, or Cambridge?”

He hummed and settled himself on the armchair, tea in one hand, a datapad on his knee. “Ah. You've not read my file?” She shook her head. “Oxford. As the fourth son of a diplomat and a neurosurgeon, I wanted to distinguish myself in my very distinguished family.” He glanced at the datapad. “This is where my instructors would redirect the conversation to the patient, but I was a thorn in many sides during my time there.” He gazed at her, warm and distant. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me?”

“Are you leaving this distinguished family behind?”

“My mother is working with a former colleague of yours at the hospital, a Miss Lawson.” Shepard nodded. “My sisters and a brother are stationed elsewhere in the fleet. My eldest brothers, and my father, are deceased.” He cleared his throat. “They were on Arcturus.” She sighed, and they left the moment unfilled. “May I ask you something?” 

“That’s why we’re here, no?”

“Do you often contemplate the emptiness of space?”

She considered the question. “Space is not empty.”

He smiled. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be, for you. Yesterday, you walked in it. How did that feel?”

She sipped her tea. “I focused on my hands, on the ship. I kept my eyes on what was directly in front of me. Anything else… didn’t seem, safe.” The upholstery became fascinating. She ran her finger along a stem limned in gold. He waited. “I was afraid that I would fall, if I looked.” It sounded ridiculous out loud. She glanced at him. He waited. She took a breath, held it, and breathed out. “I used to. Look.” A quiet admission. 

“I would like to hear more about that. Later.” He stood, and she followed. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you know about Oxford?”

She smiled and slipped into Cockney, easy as an old boot. “Free years o’ schoolin, mate. Wiv’at porsh tongue in yer mouf, on’y two places inna whole worl y’moigh’a come from.” He hummed, amused. “SA enrolled me in the Toronto Conservatory after my, incident, at the farm. I assisted the dialect coach for spending money.” She shrugged. “A few things stuck.”

He gave her a small bow and gestured to the exit. “I look forward to our next session,” he said. “EDI has requested your presence on the bridge.”

She finished her tea, and he took the empty mug. Deep breath, two, three, out. She inclined her head in thanks, and he returned the gesture. The cloth hall glimmered at the corner of her eye, and the Commander was fully in place when the door to that soft, warm room whisked shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contamination in the helmet during a space walk is something I pulled from an interview with Cmdr. Chris Hadfield. Real, scary space stuff!
> 
> "Of all the gin joints, in all the cities, in all the world, she walks in to mine." 'Sup, Casablanca.
> 
> My Cockney transcription is... dicey? That may get the axe later. Thanks for reading, more to come!


	2. Mother and Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor injury in this chapter. Nothing too gruesome but for those easily squicked by blood, there's some blood.

“Take us in, Joker.”

The dead ship was black on black in the optical sensors, but the ladar mapped what could only be the remains of a Sovereign class Reaper. A chill ran down her spine. It was the first Reaper she’d seen since waking up in the hospital. 

Garrus hummed. “No convenient stars for a proper burial,” he said. 

Joker glanced over. “Looks like drive core's intact." He pointed to a rift in the hull. "Hit it there, ignite the core," he mimed an explosion, "boom.” 

EDI stiffened. “Commander Shepard, Admiral Hackett is hailing us. He has marked it urgent.”

“Put him through.”

“Commander Shepard. We’ve picked up a Reaper in your vicinity, do you have a visual?”

“Yes sir, we were just discussing the best way to, handle it.”

“You mean destroy it.”

She paused. “Yes, sir.”

“Shepard, while I understand your impulse, the fact is that we need to salvage what we find out here. This is a long term mission. We can’t afford to let resources like this go to waste—”

“Admiral—”

“Shepard. Our engineers have determined a path for a number of Thanix strikes that will cut the drive core from the ship. Yours is the most precise in the fleet. I know you don’t like it, but we need this, Shepard. Without a supply of element zero, our fleet is dead in the water.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She hated this, but he was right. They would need eezo. Each Reaper had a massive amount of refined eezo in its core. Ruthless calculus reared its ugly head, even here, even after the fighting was over. She shackled her biotics and punched the wall. 

“Hey!” Joker twisted in his seat. “No beating up my baby. It’s not her fault.” He turned back and crooned, “No baby, it’s not your fault. Mommy’s not mad at you.” 

Shepard studied her bleeding knuckles. “Hackett?”

“Still here, Shepard.”

“Send the file to EDI. We’ll get it done.”

“Thank you, Shepard. Hackett out.”

Garrus shifted in the silence, uneasy. “The fleet doesn’t go anywhere without a significant eezo reserve. This smells funny, Shepard.”

EDI tilted her head. "Each mass relay requires more element zero than can be safely transported in the wartime fleets. It is the reason the former geth ships have been converted to freighters."

Shepard sniffed. “Normandy’s yours, Garrus.” She waggled her torn knuckles at him. “Doesn’t look like I’m fit to lead this mission. I’ll be in the gym.”

Garrus laid a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped. He sighed. “EDI.”

“Yes, XO Vakarian?”

“What do you need for this assignment?”

“I have received the file, and I have initiated the startup sequence in the Thanix array. I will require thirty-two minutes and eight-point zero-one-four seconds to release the drive core from the ship.”

“Is that all? Do you need a crew member in the gunnery to assist?”

“That would be unnecessary. I have control of all offensive and defensive capabilities.”

Garrus nodded. “Joker, you have the bridge.”

“Aye aye, Vakarian.” Joker stretched and rested his hands behind his head. “Sure you don’t want to stay? It’s gonna be a hell of a show.”

“I’m sure." He nodded to Shepard. "After you, Commander. Let us know when you’re done, EDI.”

“Acknowledged. Firing.”

Shepard watched the beam shoot from the Normandy, slicing a massive chunk of the dead ship from its hulk. A faint blue light shimmered in the wound, the exposed core. _Just one shot,_ she thought. She shook herself and walked with Garrus to the elevator.

———

Bare talons swiped over her head, yanking stray hairs out by the roots. She darted to the left and landed a solid jab in his soft waist, a sharp grunt her reward. He shook the hairs from his hands as she backed off, bouncing on his toes and measuring the new distance between them. He feinted right. She moved to counter without seeing his steady gravity and he caught her foot with his, flicking it out from under her and sending her to the mat. She landed with a huff. She vaulted to her feet and spun away before he could pin her. 

“Sloppy, Shepard.” She snarled. “I really should get my gloves. You’re fighting angry.” He gave her his side, watching. She rushed him, ducked under his swipe and plowed into his stomach. He fell back and she heard the air go out of him. She hooked his leg in hers and nearly got his elbow too, but she missed and he broke her hold to roll to the side. She screamed as he got to his feet. He whirled to see her crouched on the mat, sparking blue, and she watched as his mandibles dropped and fear crept into his eyes. She screamed again as she rose, her throat raw, and she hurled the pent energy into the Kodiak opposite them. The shuttle lifted nearly a meter off the floor. The metallic boom and resounding shudder after it slammed down was satisfying. 

When she looked back he was almost on top of her, his hand outstretched. She raised her arm without thinking. His talon caught the top of her wrist. He jerked away, horrified, and flayed her to the elbow. They watched the skin lay open, blood weeping over exposed muscle and bone. Their eyes met across the no man’s land of what they’d done. 

A sudden flare of pain shocked her from her rage. Keeping her arm elevated, she walked to the med kit. She opened it, awkward with her left hand, and found a pack of medi-gel. The wound was deep but clean, almost surgical. She laid the flaps of skin together and spread the gel over them, cool relief at its heels. It soaked into her skin, its healing properties enhanced with the various weaves and upgrades and whatever the hell else she was made of, so that when she turned back to Garrus, there was nothing to show of the twenty centimeter gash but a thin line and a trickle of blood drying at her elbow. He hadn’t moved.

“Garrus.” She went to him. He shrunk back, but she caught his wrist. He tried to pull away, but she was strong. After a moment, he let himself be held. “Garrus?” A quiet plea. He stopped fighting her, and she placed the hand she held around her waist, pressing his talons gently against her skin. He trembled but at last he turned, his plates angled in sorrow. She shook her head, a weak attempt at easing his conscience. “It was an accident. You were right, I was fighting angry…”

“I was wrong! I never should have… you’re so—”

“What, delicate? Fragile?” She snorted and held up her arm. “Look. It’s already gone.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you’re thinking, what if you’d hit something important?” He just looked at her. “Give me a little credit, Garrus. Give yourself some too, while you’re at it.” She leaned into his side and wrapped his other arm around her. “There’s only one way you could ever really hurt me, Gare-bear. Don’t start now.” She felt him let go a bit then, felt the strength return to his arms as he held her, a low, relieved thrum as he pressed his cheek into hers. 

“I’m never sparring barehanded with you again, Shepard. You can send me to the brig for insubordination for the rest of my life.” She stepped back, and he kissed his forehead to hers. “You’ll have to find another way to flirt with death when you’re mad.”

She grinned. It felt sharp. “Understood, Vakarian.” She glanced at her omni-tool. “Our half hour is up, anyway. Let’s go see what a mess EDI made of that Reaper.” The silence as they dressed was just the wrong side of strained.

…

“Report,” she said as they stopped behind Joker. He gestured to the half-seen chaos before them. The drive core was free, a tiny blue sun lighting the debris in sharp relief that obscured more than it revealed. Small robotic craft moved around it, nudging, testing, measuring. An empty geth ship waited, bay doors open. The geth were gone, the ship commanded instead by a VI to follow the fleet and serve as a cargo vessel. There was a hitch in her breath. That ship had been alive with hard-won allies, once.

“Not much to report, Commander. Drive core’s free, and they’re coaxing it in there. All automated, just in case. One of the dreadnoughts will blast the rest of it into oblivion once we’re clear, and we’ll move on.” He shrugged. “Decent way to pass an afternoon.”

“Thanks, Joker. Garrus, you’re in charge. I’m gonna swing by med bay to have this looked at.” He winced. “I’m not worried, but Chakwas will want to see it. Ping me when they’re done out there.” He dipped his head and refocused on the salvage efforts as she left.

The CIC hummed with familiar energy as she walked to the elevator. Traynor nodded as she passed, pleasure, not business. Shepard returned the nod as she called the elevator. Command stood empty, waiting for her to step up and ponder the slow swirl of the galaxy map. She felt the pull, sure as the tides feel the moon. It was strange to be tethered so closely to the fleet rather than calling her own shots, carving her own path across the curved arms of the Milky Way. The elevator chimed before she decided how to feel about it.

A handful of people were in the mess. Privates Westmoreland and Campbell, relieved of guard duty after the war room was downgraded to a comm room, talked quietly over coffee. Hal’Inzu puttered around the galley, stirring something on the stove as he shuffled ingredients from one side of the counter to the other. She watched the young quarian with his old man gait, amused by his absolute concentration on his work. She slipped into the med bay before he realized he was being watched.

Chakwas didn’t turn as she entered, absorbed in her terminal as always. “Commander Shepard, what can I do for you?”

“Had a little accident sparring. Looks healed, but it went all the way through the skin so I wanted to make sure everything knitted okay.”

“A sparring accident that cut through, you? Vakarian?” Shepard nodded, and Chakwas shook her head as she stood. “I thought he filed those talons of his. They can be unbelievably sharp, if they’re not attended properly.”

Shepard realized that Chakwas likely knew firsthand what a sharpened talon could do to human skin. “He does, but I caught him at a bad angle.” She offered her arm and Chakwas took it, pressing along the faded line. “Finding that Reaper…”

Chakwas made a sympathetic noise. “I can only imagine how difficult seeing them in the wild is for you now. Taking its core was the right thing to do, though. The whole galaxy is low on element zero, and likely will be for some time.” She finished her examination and let go of Shepard’s arm. “You’re fine. Your implants are all working and the medi-gel did its job. You might feel a bit sore later on; nothing to worry about. No more sparring with Vakarian and his talons, though. Tell him to keep them sheathed, or I will.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He left his soft gloves in my quarters, and I didn’t want to wait.” She shrugged. “Now I know better.”

Chakwas folded her arms. “Shepard, I am going to say this once, as your doctor. I am happy for you. You’re well matched, and he loves you the way a person should love another. But, he is of a different species, which evolved on a different planet. You forget that at your peril.” Shepard opened her mouth, but Chakwas held up a finger. “And at his. Right now, there is a turian on this ship who is tearing himself apart because he injured his mate.” Her mouth closed, and a full measure of guilt poured down her shoulders like ice. The accusing finger lowered, and the doctor’s tone softened. “I know it’s easy to forget. They look so tough. Invincible, really, with their height and their armor.” Chakwas smiled. “You and I both know better.”

Shepard nodded, but before she could think of a reply, Tali entered the bay. “Doctor Chakwas, I know what’s causing it!” She noticed Shepard and stopped. “Oh! Is this a bad time? I can come back.” She turned to leave.

Chakwas held up a hand. “No no, Shepard should hear this as well. Go on, Tali.”

“You know I’ve had this little tingle in my throat?” Chakwas nodded. “I thought it was a lingering infection from the brandy at first, but that should have passed long before now. I was very careful with suit repairs, with my food and drink, everything! But I still had this tingle. Then it hit me.” She gripped the doctor’s hands in her own. “It’s the _geth_." 

“Geth?” Chakwas absorbed this. “In your suit?”

“Yes! I had geth uploaded to my suit after Rannoch, and they had begun inoculating us to boost our immune systems. This is exactly what the first inoculations felt like! Doctor Chakwas, Shepard! They survived!” Tali vibrated with excitement. “There are too few of them to communicate, but if mine survived, maybe others did as well. Maybe, all geth we uploaded to our suits survived! That would be thousands of individual run times, more than enough to revive the consensus.”

Shepard closed her mouth. She wasn’t sure when it had opened. “Tali. Go get Hal.” Tali’s eyes grew huge and she bolted from the room.

Chakwas studied her. “Commander, if I didn’t know you, I’d say you’re as surprised as I am. You don’t look surprised, though. More, gratified.” Tali dragged Hal into the room. “Care to share with the class?”

“Not right now. Hal, what’s your take on the alliance with the geth?”

He grasped his hands, the tips of his fingers digging into his indigo suit. “I was, um, I worked with them. On Rannoch. They were… they helped. When we gathered cuttings? They knew the best areas to, to do that.”

“When they were destroyed, what did you feel?”

He sniffled, and a stillness fell over him. “Loss. My suit had always been a close comfort. When they went silent, I felt adrift, as lost in my suit as the flotilla is among the stars.” Tali reached for his hand and he gripped it, drawing her to his side.

Shepard shook her head slowly. “I had hoped, when I chose to destroy the Reapers, but it’s been so long… the AI, the Catalyst, told me that choosing to destroy it, would destroy all synthetic intelligence. It was certain that organic and synthetic would forever be at odds.” She looked at the quarians, still holding hands. “I knew it was wrong about that. I’d hoped it would also be wrong about this, too.

“Every cycle that contributed to the Crucible fell into that trap. Every cycle, organic against synthetic, one race to rule the others, lifted up by the remnants of a previous cycle. They never planned for organic _and_ synthetic, or for collaboration in place of domination. And now?” She gestured to Tali and Hal, to the ceiling where EDI watched. “The synthetics in their own warships were destroyed, but the one in my ship survived. Synthetics in platforms died, but those in the suits of their creators live on.” A full body shiver ran through her. “Tali, can you get your and Hal’s geth to talk?”

“Er,” she looked embarrassed. “Hal and I, our suits can’t handle that many geth alone. We would have to link…” Hal ducked his head and managed to look even more embarrassed than Tali. 

EDI’s dock chimed. “I can offer assistance. I have sectioned off a suitable space in the core. Tali, Hal, please go through the far doors and link to the flashing server.”

Tali’s embarrassment was fading, though now Shepard thought she looked disappointed as well. “EDI, are you sure that’s safe?”

“If the geth are in your suit, the probability of them being hostile is one-point one-two-six to the negative fifteenth power. Please link to the flashing server.” They did. Everyone in the room stopped breathing. “I have spoken with them. The geth in Hal’Inzu’s suit said that around half the quarians in the flotilla have active geth in their suits, though they are unaware. When the Crucible fired, the suit geth went in to stasis for a period of several months. On reactivation, the shared intranet of the flotilla allowed them to communicate, and the consensus chose to remain dormant. They project that in their weakened state, their creators would choose to purge them.”

Tali wrung her hands. “They were right to stay hidden. My people may have worked with them in war time, but the old hatreds run deep.” She stopped, thoughtful. “Hal, thank you. You are dismissed.” He ducked his head and left the med bay. She turned to EDI’s blue orb. “Is there a way to get the geth off the flotilla?”

“Transfer of geth runtimes would require a physical destination secure from organic interference. There are several geth ships in the fleet that have been stripped of their weapons and converted to cargo ships. These would be an acceptable refuge. I can modify the VI to ignore the geth passengers, and use a tightbeam pulse to transfer them from the flotilla. First, however, the geth will need to gather in one place.”

“At the same time?”

“Perhaps. Tali, is there a hub for the flotilla? A place where all quarians meet?”

She thought for a moment, then laughed out loud. “We all eliminate. The recycling system is fully automated, and every quarian links their suit to it at least once a day. If the geth can upload themselves to the main recycling hub, they should be able to stay quiet enough to avoid detection. It’s one of the least protected servers on the flotilla.”

Shepard grinned. “The geth are escaping through the sewers. I love it. EDI, how soon can you hack a safe ship for them?”

“It is already done, Commander. Tali, you will need to travel to the flotilla to alert the geth.”

“I am due to report to the admirals at the end of the week.” She linked her suit to EDI’s server to retrieve the runtimes. “EDI, can they recover from this? I… they were good allies.”

“The upgrade Legion provided is intact. This will allow them to rebuild in any way they see fit.”

The comm crackled, and Garrus’s voice filled the bay. “Shepard? Hackett’s giving the order to move out.”

“Roger that. Take us out of the blast zone, Vakarian, but keep visual contact. I’ll be up soon.”

“I’ll be here.” The comm crackled out.

Shepard turned to Chakwas and Tali, a glance upwards to include EDI. “I don’t think I need to say it, but this stays between us. Not everyone will welcome the return of the geth. Tali, EDI, keep me updated on your progress. Chakwas?” The doctor glanced at her. “Thank you.”

———

Shepard filled her chest with the recycled ship air, and let it out slowly. The bottle pulled down on her, a reassuring weight against the webbing of her thumb. A canvas sack hung from her elbow, warm against her side. The mixed scents of levo and dextro cooking smoothed many of the rough edges the day had chipped into her. She opened the door to her quarters. 

Garrus was slumped in the turian chair before her terminal, snoring lightly. She padded to the bar, set the food down, and unstrapped two stools. She set their late dinner out, uncovering boxes, pouring the wine. She stroked his fringe and woke him with a kiss. “Wake up, Gare-bear. Soup’s on.” He shifted, groggy, and let her help him up. 

They settled on the stools and tucked in. She watched Garrus dip the dry part of his meal into the sauce part. Her nose wrinkled. “Mmm. Mystery stew, starch cube, and a piece of… fruit? Tell me that's better than it looks.”

Garrus chuckled. “This is actually,” he swallowed another bite of starch cube, “really good. Almost as good as Dad makes it.” He thrummed, and Shepard realized it was the first happy sound he’d made all day. She edged closer to him, just near enough to feel his warmth. He nuzzled her hair before returning to his meal. “How did you know I missed dinner? Hal?”

“He mentioned it when I got mine.” She shrugged. “Long day.” He nodded. “Long couple of days, really. We leave Sol, get diverted to a completely different heading, find a dead Reaper, and I wound my boyfriend in an interspecies incident.” He paused to look at her, evaluating. She set her fork down and laced her fingers in his. “I don’t know what happened to me, Garrus. The first time I… came back, I felt different. New, raw. Now, same thing, only worse. I have this, rage.” His thumb stroked the fine line on her wrist. “The world is too bright, too loud, too much. I feel like I lost a filter.”

“I’ve noticed.” He squeezed her hand. “I wanted to be that filter, but that’s living dangerously, even for us. I realized that today, when you went to see Chakwas. I put myself between you and your… demons?” She nodded. He sighed and looked down at his food. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again, Sloane. The way you screamed, your skin tearing under my hand…” he shivered. 

“Hey.” He looked up. “We’ll get through this. I can’t promise I won’t lose it like that moving forward, but we’ll keep the gloves on, okay? Both of us.”

He kissed his forehead to hers. “Okay.”

The moment passed, and they turned back to their swiftly cooling meal. Shepard hummed, pleased. Her protein loaf had a perfect brown sear, the bread was chewy and crusty, and the salad of hydroponic micro-greens had a lovely, fresh crunch. She’d never had ship food this good, not even after getting Rupert the ingredients from the Citadel. She swirled the wine in her glass, watching the ruby shadows twist.

Garrus watched her. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“The wine?”

“Mm.”

“The geth survived.”

Fruit halted in its path to his mouth. “The, geth?”

She sipped the wine. “Yup. Tali’s been feeling sick and she realized it was because the geth in her suit were active again. EDI talked with them, and we hatched a daring rescue in the med bay.” She giggled. “They’re using the quarian sewers to escape to one of the cargo ships, just like every prison break movie ever made.”

“Escape, why?”

“They don’t feel safe. There’s not many of them, and they’re all dependent on the quarians’ suits. It would be easy to eradicate the few who remain. Tali was the one who said it would be better for them to leave the flotilla.”

He tore a piece from the fruit and swallowed it. “You run this by command?”

“Hell no. This op is classified, top secret, Normandy only stuff.”

He chuckled. “Just like—”

Shepard cut him off, groaning. “Don’t say it.”

He laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He raised his glass. “To the geth.”

She raised hers. “To the geth.” They drank deep, and she refilled their glasses. Garrus moved behind her as she poured, his breath tickling the hairs floating at her crown. “Mm. What’re you up to now?” A low rumble shivered the air between them as he slid his bare fingers down her shoulders, cupping her elbows, stroking her wrists. He spun her around to face him, nudging her knees apart to stand tight between her thighs. He drew a talon along her jaw and she lifted her mouth to his. They kissed, soft lips against giving plate, a slip of tongues, a shared sigh. She gripped his cowl and he lifted her from the stool, her legs finding purchase on his hips. 

Garrus walked them backward to the bed. They fell with a whump onto the thick mattress, the curve of it welcoming all of their angles and sharp places. She unclasped his tunic, he unbuttoned her shirt. Soon they rested skin to skin, warm and cool returning to a well-worn equilibrium. She licked her teeth, making a note to brush them before sleeping. He watched her, his nose twitching, the outside mandible relaxed. She shifted her leg into the hollow of his waist. He closed his eyes and loosed a growl so deep she felt it rumbling in her bones. He pressed against her but his plates stayed closed, shades of the day clinging, stubborn. She smiled, sad, as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. She kissed him once more and left to shower and brush her teeth.

When she returned, he was asleep. She cleared their meal away and laid herself down in the hollow of his body, sighing when he shifted around her. His breath whistled softly through his nose. The Normandy hummed beneath her, a steady mechanical heartbeat. Her fish tank gurgled, fat bubbles shining to the surface. She focused on the fish, the deep violet, the bright gold, their slow, shimmery movement. New fish, same effect. Eventually, she slept.


	3. Clocks in Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: The story earns its explicit rating at the end of this chapter. I hadn't planned on smut so early, but these crazy kids just can't keep their hands off each other. Dirty talk and light consensual bondage.
> 
> Added that conversation between Singh and Shepard on 3/10/2019. Showing those OCs some lurve.

Shepard tapped her fingers on the teacup. The first leg of their long journey was nearly over. Visions of what they’d find at Exodus floated in her periphery and stole her sleep. She heard a question in the distance, but it had no bearing on the mission. 

What mission.

“Shepard, are you still here?” Dr. Singh was leaning forward, measuring the gulf between them with an edge of concern. She looked through him and saw ashes. He raised his hand, waved a small parade wave, fingers together, palm a shallow cup. She focused on the motion, irregular in this setting. She swallowed against a rasp in her throat, and remembered the tea. She sipped it, allowing the present to settle around her once more. Whatever was on Eden Prime would wait for them. Nothing she could do but arrive. 

“I am now, Singh. What were you asking?”

“Well, now I want to know what’s on your mind. I’ve not seen you this distracted before.”

“This will be my third visit to Eden Prime. I doubt there will be anything charming about it.”

“You think it was affected by the war? It’s mostly farmland and wilderness, is it not?”

“It was a human colony. Reapers… developed a taste for them, over the years.”

“Ah, the Reapers. I thought they’d focused on Earth? Incredible, their strength and savagery. Seeing London after their defeat was… well, you were there.” He felt safe enough to drop her gaze and tap onto a datapad. “No metro areas like that on Eden Prime, though. I’m looking forward to taking a constitutional with good soil under my feet, myself. You shouldn’t, worry… so.” His expectant smile faded when he met her eyes.

Shepard set the cup on a table with a light clink without shifting her hard stare. “The Reapers,” she said, willing her voice to remain low and smooth, “were everywhere.” She shifted her head back, reappraising this young doctor. “What do you know about them?”

“Ah, they were, sentient? Machines? Old, yes, powerful, nigh indestructible. They were… the, ah, enemy.” He shifted, trying to mask a yammering ignorance behind his various façades, the aristocrat, the professional, the faithful, all flickering and fading under the weight of her deepening frown.

“The word you’re looking for, is ‘nothing.’” His shoulders slumped. She snorted and activated the photo cache in her omni-tool. She flicked a particularly grisly scene of husks and dragon’s teeth into the window. “This was the first time I went to Eden Prime.” She watched him study it, his professional detachment no match for the horror of understanding. 

“Why…”

“That’s what they do. Did. What they did. Among other things.”

He shook his head. “Why would you keep this memory?”

“It’s not mine.” She closed it. “This is from Kaidan’s photo cache. His father sent me a file with some of his… memories, when he heard I was alive.” She closed her eyes. “I keep it for him.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know—”

Shepard’s eyes flashed open and she slammed her hand on the chaise, the dull thwap an unsatisfying voice for her anger. “NO. You don’t know. And even if I tried to tell you, you wouldn’t believe.” She clenched her teeth. “No one did, until they saw.” Her brow furrowed on the obvious, impossible realization. “You _should_ have seen. How did you not SEE?”

He swallowed. “I was… a survivor.” She shrugged, the word meant many things, but nothing in this context. “A designated survivor. When Arcturus… went dark, we were sent to re-purposed black sites around the globe. Mine was on the Isle of Man.” He swallowed against the fury in her gaze. “It wasn’t my first choice. My family…”

She barked an ugly laugh. “Families. I’ve heard about how families can be. Dynasties and all that.”

He bristled. “You don’t know us, Shepard. My great-grandparents fled from war with nothing. Their children struggled every day to live up to the expectations, to carry the weight of sacrifice and obligation.” He gestured to himself, taking in the bespoke suit, the gleaming shoes. “This? This took generations to build. Who was I to decline what my ancestors had shed sweat, blood, and dignity in earning?” 

Shepard bit her lip She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, rubbed her face in her hands and propped her chin on her knuckles, actions in service of calming her thoughts. “That was unfair. Of me.” He hummed. “What you saw in London?” He nodded. “Everywhere. The husks, the spikes?” He blinked. “Every species.” He shuddered. She nodded.

“I should have been there. I could have…” She watched his internal battle rage as he tried to reconcile familial pride and grievous insult. After a few moments, he seemed to remember why he was seated across from the woman who had held the line against the apocalypse, and sunk a mortal dagger into its mechanical heart. “Well. I defer to your experience. Whatever we find at Exodus, I will be available to you and your crew.”

Her tea was cold. Dr. Singh shifted in his chair, the line of his shoulders a study in unease. It was too much to ask that his omni-tool would ping with a request she go to the bridge, or the med bay, or anywhere but here, really. The Normandy hummed below and around them, bringing them ever closer to their destination, that binary system of his hope and her despair.

“We can try again later,” she offered, “when we’re not so… distracted.”

The young doctor shook his head. “Your time is dear.” He glanced at the datapad in his hand and then to her. “You mentioned earlier that you felt you’d lost a filter. How many filters would you say are active between you and the world?”

Shepard whistled. “Probably more than what’s considered healthy for most people.”

“We’re not here to talk about most people. What do you feel you are missing?”

“This may surprise you, doc, but I have quite the temper.” He remained impassive. “Before, well, all of this, I’d collared it. Put some play in the tether when the mission called for it, but it served me. Lately, I’ve felt like I’m on the wrong side of the collar.”

“Hm. Do you have experience with meditation?”

A deep well opened under her and stole her breath. They sat in silence while she clawed back up to the gleaming office. “I… do. While we hunted the Collectors, two members of my crew…” she stopped again.

He looked at another datapad. “Ah. The justicar, and…?”

“Thane.” His name was raw as it left her lips.

“The assassin, yes.” Singh’s tone was light, unhurried. He disengaged to read the datapad, allowing her space to process the assault of her untended grief. She grabbed a tissue and began to shred it, piece by tiny piece. When she had a small pile, she lifted it in a orb of dark energy and warped it into dust. She let it fall into her cold tea. When she looked up again, his voice was soft. “Is this something you practice often?”

“Not since the Crucible.”

“You must begin again.” She moved to protest and he held up a hand. “I understand that their memories are painful, but they gave you a gift. It benefits no one to refuse it.” She sunk deeper into the chaise. A low chime sounded; the hour was up. “Shepard. No one wants to have the ability to snap their fingers and heal you more than I do, but this is the best science we have.” They rose. “Starting tomorrow, I want you to meditate for the first ten minutes of your day. Do not dress, do not shower, do not leave the bed.” He offered the box of tissues. “Use these, if they help.”

Shepard grunted and took the box. “Same time next week, doc?”

He tilted his head. “If your schedule allows it. I am at your disposal, should you wish to talk sooner.” She gritted her teeth, a doubtful twinge at the corner of her mouth. “Of course, you’re welcome to tea even if you don’t want to talk. You are safe here, Sloane.” She dipped her chin in acknowledgment and left. In the hall, her fingertips accepted the invitation of the cloth walls, primitive relief in touching that softness. She stood at the door for several moments, running her hand down the tapestry, grounding herself in the lines of embroidery, the whisper of velvet. She opened the door when her jagged pieces had been wrapped and stowed.

…

A rifle cracked in the shuttle bay as she left the elevator. She grabbed a pair of earmuffs from the armory and walked over to the makeshift sniper’s nest where Garrus and Hal were perched. She stood back while Garrus adjusted the quarian’s grip, pressed against a tense shoulder, demonstrated the exhale before taking a shot. Hal shook himself and settled into the rifle again, one breath, two, sighted the target, inhale… exhale… _crack._ Another miss. A string of quarian curses fumped through her earmuffs and she grinned. Garrus chuckled next to him and clapped him on the back, gesturing to the target. He hadn’t missed by much. Glancing back, he noticed her behind them for the first time. He looked at the spot opposite Hal, an invitation. She joined them. 

“Not bad, considering this is the first time you’ve fired a real gun,” she said, resting the muffs around her neck. 

“It is very different than the sims in the Chayym, that is certain.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Does it always hurt this much?”

She laughed. “You get used to it. Has Garrus been too hard on you?” The turian in question chuffed and sighted a target, exhaled, and picked it off. Hal jumped. Shepard shook her head as they got up.

The quarian rubbed at his dark suit, its wavy pattern picked out in gold thread. “No, he is kind.” He looked up at her. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean no disrespect, but I am a scientist, a botanist. I’m no soldier.”

“We’re all soldiers on this ship, Hal. Even Gannett and Singh have weapons training. If the sniper isn’t to your liking, we could swap to an assault rifle, or Tali could work with you on shotguns?” Hal froze at Tali's name. Garrus caught her eye and _winked._ Shepard chomped down on her tongue to keep from laughing out loud at that very human expression on her alien mate. 

“Um, I think, I might like the shotgun? I always played a vanguard in the sims…” he twisted his fingers together.

Shepard looked up at the ceiling. “EDI, what’s Tali up to now?”

“Tali’Zorah is currently in the tech lab running tests on the unidentified specimens pulled from the hull.”

“Estimate how long she’ll be there.”

“Her part of the work is done. She is waiting on the lab’s computer to run diagnostics on the samples.”

“Have her come down to the shuttle bay.”

“Right away, Commander.”

Garrus took the Mantis Hal had been using and swapped it for an Eviscerator. He loaded it with practice rounds and handed it to him. The quarian took it gingerly, holding it across his body pointed away from everyone in the bay. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting to the lighter weight of the shotgun. Garrus moved to fix his grip, but the elevator chimed and Tali strode over to them.

“Ah ha! You reopened the firing range!”

Shepard crossed her arms and grinned at Tali. “We were just showing Hal here the finer points of soldiering, but he prefers shotguns and, well—” she gestured to herself and Garrus. 

Tali grinned. “You’re lucky I was in a holding pattern in the lab. I’m no closer to figuring out what those things are. They’re alive, but how, or why, or what they were doing on our ship? No idea. Shooting things will be a welcome distraction.” 

“I’ll leave you to it. Go easy on him, he just spent the last hour missing everything with Garrus breathing down his neck.”

Tali inspected her weapon and clicked the practice rounds into place. “Don’t worry, Shepard. I won’t.” 

Shepard clapped Hal on the shoulder as she and Garrus walked out, impressed by his quiet resolve in the face of their ribbing. _Nervous, absolutely. No coward, though. He’ll be just fine._ A smile played at her lips as she replaced the muffs and waited for the elevator. 

Garrus waited for the doors to close and punched the number one. Shepard raised an eyebrow at him. “How was your session with Singh?” 

She sighed. “Rough. He asked me what I thought we’d find on Eden Prime. I told him, probably nothing good. He asked why, and when I tried to deflect, he told me not to worry!” She shook her head. “He pissed me off, so I told him what happens to people when the Reapers come a’reaping.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “He was so sheltered. His whole family worked to keep him in the dark. When I was done, I’m not sure if he was more angry with me, or them.”

“How… how could he not know? Earth was—”

“He was a designated survivor. When the Reapers hit Arcturus he was sent to the old black site on the Isle of Man.” He tilted his head, inquiring. “It’s a low-pop island off the coast, west of London. The Reapers passed right over it on their way to the city. The launch to the fleet was the first time he’d seen the wasteland Earth had become.” The doors opened to the silence of their personal deck. They walked into their quarters, quiet. Garrus checked the ant farm, the collection box nearly full, and released food into the fish tank. Shepard woke her terminal, no new messages. 

Garrus settled into the turian chair next to her. “Another long, empty day in space, Shepard. I hear there’s a poker game in the lounge later tonight. Want to crash it?”

“Ha. I’ll let them keep their credits tonight. Thanks for your work with Hal. We’ll make a soldier out of him yet.” He chuffed. “Oh now, there’s steel somewhere in that pretty blue suit of his.”

“Speaking of that suit, have you heard from the geth?”

“Only that they evacuated the flotilla and are safe in cargo eleven. They’re keeping quiet, which suits me just fine. Tali’s geth chose to stay with her, to keep communications open.” She rested her feet on his legs. He tugged her closer to massage her calves. “They’re rebuilding.” He hummed. “I should be overjoyed, but all I feel is dread.” He stopped, the angle of his head a question. “The Crucible was supposed to wipe out all synthetic life, but clearly, that didn’t happen. EDI survived, the geth survived, my Reaper based upgrades are still functional… Garrus, what if they’re not dead?”

His subaural reply prickled the hairs on her neck before he spoke in her range. “They certainly seem dead. Their foot soldiers, the ones we’ve seen are little more than dust. And we know from personal experience that even a dead Reaper is more trouble than it’s worth.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Do we? I recall a certain mission not that long ago where we salvaged an entire Reaper drive core, with a cannon based on Reaper tech.”

“Wha, we were ordered… you ordered that!”

“Relax. I—”

“No no, you don’t get to lay that on me. I didn’t want to either, but if my superior officer—”

“Garrus! I’m not laying anything on you, it was Hackett’s call! All I’m saying is, maybe we don’t know that Reapers are more trouble than they’re worth. I mean, look at our overarching mission here. Repair the mass relay network. And if those robots find the tech that made Reapers so fast, or what kept their cores from overloading, maybe… maybe that isn’t more trouble than they’re worth.”

He stared at her mandibles slack, hands still on her legs. “Sloane. Are you feeling okay? This much time in deep space, two sessions with Singh in a week…”

Her eyes closed. “No, no. You’re right. I was trying to reconcile Hackett’s order, to find the good in it.” She groaned. “It is weighing on me, though. The crew is on edge, too. I had to break up a fight between Campbell and Inali, that new ensign, in the mess this morning. Want to know what it was about?” He blinked. “Inali grabbed the wrong piece of toast. A stupid mistake, but Campbell sliced her shoulder with a butter knife for it. By the time I got them apart, I had to send them to med bay with bruises and a handful of nasty gashes. I don’t even have a brig to keep them separated, so they’re confined to quarters. Together.”

“Well. You know how turians handle that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think Campbell is Inali’s type.”

“Not what I meant, Shepard. Sanctioned sparring. We could set up a few mats in the shuttle bay, and you and I can monitor, make sure no one gets hurt. It beats the hell out of poker night.”

She considered this. It was completely unheard of in the Alliance, but so was interstellar travel without the relays. “We’d have to run it by Hackett, call it a cultural exchange.” She grinned. “And brace ourselves for the inevitable jokes at our expense.” He hummed, amused. She stood up, stretched, and crossed to the habitat. “Hal wants these ants by 1600 to start meal prep. I’ll run them down, then check in with Liara to get the inside scoop on the fleet. If they’re having the same personnel troubles we are, they may be more, amenable, to your suggestion.” 

He glanced at her terminal. “It’s only 1515,” he said in a purr that bordered on obscene, “plenty of time to, relieve, that stress you’re carrying.” The chair creaked and his cold armor nudged between her shoulder blades. Blue and silver gauntlets gripped her waist, his thumbs massaging slow circles in her lower back. She released the clasps at his wrists and he let them fall to the floor, the heat of his rough hands welcome after the cold steel and smooth leather. He slid them into her waistband, bunching her shirt and pulling it over her head. She turned and helped him remove his armor, a fleeting grin as she realized she was more familiar with this than his civilian clothing. 

Stripped to the soft undersuit, he closed the gap and pressed his leg between hers. She slid her outside thigh up to hook around his soft waist, his answering growl shivering her to the core. One taloned hand held her tight against him while the other traced the curved line from shoulder to hip and back again. Her fingers stroked the edge of his plates, pressing under his fringe to bring his mouth to hers. He feinted just as her lips brushed his, instead drawing his clever, rough tongue along her jaw and smoothing his mandible against her cheek. Heat pooled in her belly and she twined into him, needing to be closer, to touch and be touched. He straightened and she unhooked her leg, stepping back toward their bed. With a few deft motions they shed the rest of their clothing, a soft pile kicked to the side. She gripped the suede of his waist and dropped back onto the mattress, giggling at his muttered curse as he tried to break his fall. 

He growled. “Dirty trick, girlfriend of mine. You’ll pay for that one.”

“Promise?” His growl deepened at her voice, thick with desire. She wrapped her legs around him as his cock slid from his plates. He parted her folds and pressed against her cleft. She moaned impatience. 

“Tell me you want it.” She whined. He flexed, but did not enter. “Use your words, Sloane.” Her hips rocked against him, seeking, but he was quick. He wrapped his long fingers over her hip, talons pricking her flushed skin. “Tell me,” his voice almost below her hearing, “what you want.”

“Fuck, Garrus!” Her whisper cracked like a shout. “I want you inside me five minutes ago.” 

“Mm. Good,” he dipped half into her and pulled back, “but you’ll have to do better than that. Tell me, exactly, what you want.” 

She hissed when he slipped out, the tip of his cock bouncing against her slick, heated flesh. Her eyes lanced his with furious, frustrated need. When she finally spoke, her words were staccato and hoarse. “I want you, to fuck me so hard I can’t walk straight. I want your cock, buried so deep in me, I don’t know where I end and you begin. I want every muscle in this body to ache tomorrow. And Garrus, I want you to come inside me. I fucking love it, when you come inside me.” 

His eyes lost their teasing glint and his cock swelled as she gave him what he'd asked for. The air bloomed in a subaural shock as he aligned himself with her and, with a single brutal stroke, entered her. She was ready, so ready, her body opening and accepting and buffering his sex. He withdrew, and rammed home again. Their guttural moans shuddered in the room at their joining, punctuated by sharp gasps as he moved within her. He pulled back. She growled and dug fingernails into the unplated skin of his lower back. He huffed at her impatience and thrust back into her, slow, and she savored the intensity of their unexpected, inexact affinity as she yielded around him.

He reached around to grab the hand at his lower back. She let him take it, understanding the look in his hooded eyes, the mandible held in a smirk. He balanced on her wrist and took her other hand, stretched her sides and bound her hands together over her head in his long, taloned fingers. A wave of pleasure mere degrees from unbearable flowed over her, release as she gave him absolute control. _No one else,_ she thought as he pulled her body taut, as he pounded home, _no one in this whole, fucked up existence could do this to me._ His tongue snapped her back to the moment, its tip slipping into her mouth. She parted her lips, drew it into her mouth sucking and twirling. He was careful, his tongue never darting too far but twisting hers, filling her mouth and retreating for breath until she was full, so full of him. 

He pressed her wrists into the bed and rose up, watching her. His strokes shortened, he no longer withdrew but ground his hips into hers, his cock huge and heavy in her, his softened plate winding friction against her clit, coils of heat and tension spooling in her core. She rode the crest of the wave hard and didn’t let it break until he dropped to her, biting the soft skin where neck met shoulder. His hard mouth dug into her, the pain a bright focus and she let the wave break, coils unleashing shock after shock of pleasure as she cried out, wordless in the grip of her release. Distantly, she felt his mouth still at her neck, felt him tense within and around her. He let her wrists go to grip the top of the bed, and she used this new freedom to scrape her nails down his neck, up the plates leading to his fringe. A snarl rumbled through him as he let go of her neck, flicking his eyes up to meet hers. 

“Yes,” she said. “I want to feel you come.”

He tightened his grip on the bed and she heard it creak in protest. He drove her into the thick mattress, relentless, watching her, until at last he gasped and split the air with curses, voice raw and purely his own without the translator overlay. She felt him go rigid, felt the pulse of his release as his hips lost their rhythm and stuttered hard against her, felt the feverish wash of his orgasm swell and coat their sex. He held himself above her for a moment, then collapsed, angling his chest to keep from bruising her. They laughed and she rolled him off, throwing a leg around him to remain joined. 

Garrus propped himself up on an elbow and played with her tangled hair. “Didn’t know you liked dirty talk so much. Would have done that… long, before now if I knew I’d get that kind of reaction.”

She huffed, still winded. “News to me, too. I ah, never got that far with anyone else. Was always more of a wham, bam, thank you ma’am girl until now.” 

He leaned forward to brush his mouth on her lips, then looked down. “The ah,” he gestured to her wrists, fading red marks where he’d held her, “that’s, okay?”

“Mm, seems so.” She chuckled. “You know I could have thrown you across the room any time I wanted to, right?”

“So much for my illusion of domination,” he said.

“Hey, there are exactly zero other people who could do that to me without getting disintegrated. Immediately.” He rested his forehead on hers, a content thrum in his chest. She answered with a hum of her own, the nearest she could get to harmony with her single set of vocal cords. 

Much as she wanted to spend the rest of the day in that nest-like cloister of thick mattress and musky perfume, the ship carried on, her attention required for any number of things. She slipped from his embrace, sticky and sated, and drew him to the shower. They washed each other with a practiced touch, measured and familiar. And if she lingered on his seam, coaxing him open once more, and if he slipped a well-blunted talon into her, still slick with his seed, well, there’s more than one way to get clean.


	4. Festina Lente

_The soldier ducked into cover. A gunship strafed across the field, artillery stuttering a line of death before it. His comrade joined him and together they attacked. The ship went down in a hail of bullets and diesel smoke to explode on the hard stone. They shouted, but their celebration was premature. The ship had been a ruse. The enemy Commander swept down the field and they were powerless to stop her. She cut his comrade down, and he couldn’t retreat to save the base. Flailing, his captain ordered the ship to come about but it was too late. Between the Commander and her last tank, their base was crushed, and his general fell._

“HaHA!” Shepard said. “Now that was a game!”

Traynor held up her hands in a willing defeat. “You got me, fair and square. Nicely done, Shepard.” The chess set disappeared in a flash of scattered bits as she snapped it shut. “Have you been studying?”

Shepard grinned. “I may have read a few things about strategy, reviewed a couple games we played in my quarters.”

“You were recording me? Commander!”

Shepard held up her hand. “Only the board, Traynor. I’d have looked some up on the extranet, but we’ve been out of range for over a month.” 

Traynor shivered. “It’s so strange, being out of reach. I mean, we have the fleet all around us so I feel _safe,_ but I also feel so very, alone. Is that odd? To feel alone in the midst of a thousand ships?”

“This is new territory. We haven’t launched a mission without relays since before we discovered the relays, and we’ve never gone beyond radio contact with Earth. I can’t tell you how to feel.” She studied her palms. “I’ll tell you how I feel, though. I have a new respect for the early ocean voyagers of Earth, who would sail beyond everything they knew with only the stars and the currents to guide them. I imagine they felt much as we do now, unmoored from the present, the past and future stowed within their hearts and the hulls of their fleet.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” Traynor said as she and Shepard moved to the long couch, drinks in hand, soft violet and orange light from the nebula they’d come to see streaming in through the window. The fleet followed just behind, the recon ships black specks against undulating ripples of a light so soft, Shepard could almost forget it was the result of incomprehensible violence. 

Shepard sighed. “When I was little, seven or eight, I’d look at photos of Earth, Jupiter, all the nearby planets, and feel this… gut-deep dread. I couldn’t fathom the _bigness_ of even our little solar system without this primal, consuming awe and horror.” She watched the nebula shift with her perspective, newborn stars peeking through clouds of shining dust and refractive gas only to recede again, their light frosted and filtered through the matter of their conception and birth. “When I left on my first shuttle, it all came back. I was so grateful for the harness, because I absolutely would have melted into a quivering puddle of piss and terror had I not been strapped upright. But then we hit orbit. I opened my eyes, and there was Earth. A perfect blue and white marble, fragile and unlikely and inevitable, hanging in the darkness of space. At once the fear was gone. In its place, a wonder took root. I soaked in every detail of our home as we docked, and by the time they’d equalized pressure, all I wanted, was to see more.” A purple shadow passed over the room, a thick rope of hydrogen ejecta obscuring the faint glow from the stellar cradle. They sighed together, clicked their glasses and drank a silent toast to the universe, and their small place within it.

EDI chimed in her dock. “Commander Shepard, ETA one hour to the Utopia system.”

“Thank you, EDI,” she said, “and thank you, Samantha, for the chess game. I doubt you’ll let me win so easily again.”

“I’ll be watching you, Shepard. Next time, you are going down.”

They stood, brushing wrinkles from their uniforms. “I’m holding you to that. I’ll never get better unless you start beating me again.” 

“Oh ho! One lucky win is all it takes for you to plateau? I am going to clean the floor with…” Shepard cocked an eyebrow. Traynor flushed. “Too much?”

“Just wanted to see if you were going to finish that thought, specialist.” She grinned and elbowed the controls, backing through the door when it opened. “I’ll see you back in the CIC when you have that stowed. Thanks for stargazing with me today, Samantha.” The younger woman hugged the game board to her chest and nodded as the doors hissed shut. Shepard spun on her heel toward the galley. 

Hal had a tray of his latest experiments laid out on the tables. She grabbed a pack of apple chips and an open-faced sandwich of seeded toast and chopped protein, crowned with a vivid green layer of sprouts. She glopped a generous spoonful of dill spread over the top and sunk her teeth into it with a moan. “Thank god for quarians,” she mumbled through the first bite of herby, spicy, meaty goodness. She’d intended to eat on the way to the bridge, but Hal scuffled over to her with a fruity concoction and she sank into a chair. He turned to leave, but she called after him. “Hal, you are incredible. Is there anything, anything at all, I could get for you?”

He faced her, hands grasped at his back. “Commander Shepard. I, er, actually, you are running morning drills in the shuttle bay?” She nodded. The sparring arena had been denied, but they'd formed an old fashioned drill team soon after. “I would like to take part.”

“Of course, but I was talking about galley supplies, or something for your farm?”

“I… could use more levo protein? And, we’re close to Eden Prime?” She nodded again. “There’s a plant, berries, I think I could grow it on the ship. Here,” he tapped into his omni-tool and hers dinged with a photo of a shrub weighed down by hundreds of purple berries. “It has many useful properties, for both diets.”

Shepard bit her lip. “I’ll see what the Reapers left for us, Hal. I can’t promise—”

He winced. “I’m, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

She shook her head. “I’ll keep an eye out. Drill starts at 0700, don’t be late.” He ducked and returned to the galley. She made herself finish the sandwich, reluctant to let the sudden fist in her belly win this round. Standing, she brushed crumbs from her hands into a bin and spared a glance to the main battery doors, shut tight against the tug in her chest. _Later,_ she promised herself.

They had a relay to find.

…

Shepard stepped onto the flight deck. “Hey Joker, what’s the good word?”

“Most of the fleet’s fanned out around the last known location of the relay. Fuel processors are orbiting Zion with a detachment of cargo vessels to shore up our reserve. EDI’s calculated the most likely position of the relay based on a whole bunch of things I only understood about half of, and that’s where we’re headed now. Finding it is gonna be a bitch, though. They were dead quiet on the scanners before they blew, but now they’re actually invisible until you’re right on top of them.”

“The ladar will be working overtime til we find it, no doubt. Still, feels good to be this close after so long in the in-between.” 

“I hear that. Never thought I’d be anxious to get off the ship, but I’ve been going nuts in here. It was great at first, all the helmsmen bullshitting over the comms, trivia nights, hell, there was even an improv channel for a while. That all died out about a month ago. Only thing left is the turian channel dedicated to reading old war novels.” He shuddered. “Nothing makes an hour feel longer than a turian war novel.”

Shepard chuckled. “I’ll remember that if Garrus offers to read me a bedtime story.” Joker rolled his eyes. She nudged his shoulder. “Keep me posted, I’ll be downstairs cleaning the rifle. Poor girl’s been feeling awfully left out lately.”

“You and that gun. You know you could load it with concussion rounds and light up the gallery all day long, right?”

“Pff. I’d never sully her chamber with practice rounds. She survived the Citadel with me; she deserves the best.”

He waved her off as his chair swung forward. “Alright, Commander. Whatever you say.”

She grinned at his back and left the flight deck. Her crew nodded in casual acknowledgment as she crossed to the elevator, competent and unobtrusive as always. She was alone until the door hissed open in the wide, echoing steel of the shuttle bay. A small group shuffled around the arms bench, an unspoken consensus drawing them together. She returned a few salutes, then nodded to Tali, James, and Garrus as she settled onto a crate with oil, cloth, and black rifle. Piece by piece the Widow came smoothly apart in her hands, piece by piece she inspected and polished, piece by piece it came together again, the deadliest gun in the galaxy. _Second deadliest,_ she amended with a smile, _but I’d never admit that to Garrus._

A smooth dual tone interrupted her thoughts. “Something funny over here, Shepard?” Think of the devil. Garrus leaned against the stacked crates beside her, his armored form entirely too close for casual conversation. He turned out and rested a hand on her knee, his thumb making a slow sweep against her thigh. She followed his gaze, their small crew milling about the bench and lockers, battle-hardened and kinetic with anticipation. 

“Just thinking about taking Clair out,” she said as she patted the dark steel, “it’s been too long.”

“Clair, huh?”

“Yeah? Oh right, I named her while I was in London. Gannet dragged Wrex and I out to this amphitheater; you should have seen it, Garrus. The roof was half blown off, giant hole in the stage, steel cables like spiderwebs overhead. But, dead center, there was this perfect grand piano. Liquid black, not a scratch or speck of dust on it anywhere.” He raised a brow. “Piano, right. It’s a musical instrument, keys, um, here.” She pulled up a short vid she’d taken after the performance, Joy playing a few bars of Bach’s Prelude in C Major before pulling her hands away and laughing at how little she remembered. “That’s a piano.”

“Mm, wasn't there one in Anderson's apartment?" Shepard nodded slowly, realizing she had forgotten about his piano. A soft weight settled on her shoulders, another tick in the _things the Reapers took from me_ ledger. "Yeah, we don’t have anything like that.” He held up a hand. “Not enough fingers.”

Shepard frowned. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t." She sighed. "Anyway, the pianist played a few different pieces, old ones and new, and the last she performed was Clair de Lune. Something about it, the space between the notes, the impossible chance that there would be a piano after everything and someone to play it, the hundreds of people who stopped just to listen to something beautiful… that I was there at all… it punched me right in the gut.” She stroked the gleaming stock. “I never learned to play any instruments for beauty, only those for death. I named this rifle Clair that night, to remember what I was fighting for.”

Garrus leaned onto the crate and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes against the glare of his visor and melted into his heat, his scent of warm steel and strange spice. Her chest hummed in a subaural embrace and his voice was thick when he spoke. “Never regret what you are, Shepard. Without your instruments of death, there’d be far fewer for beauty… and no one left to make them sing.” He covered her right hand with his, and she lifted the other to his scarred neck, the ridges and ravines of his skin a rough balm. A quiet descended on them and she opened her eyes, catching the last of the marines as they slipped into the elevator. One grinned and dropped a saucy wink when she caught Shepard’s eye, and then they were alone. She nuzzled his nose aside and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, her fingers trailing down the length of scar tissue, the whorls and striations of numb flesh that sang of strength and courage to anyone who’d read them. He shivered and broke away. 

“So… think we’ll find something to shoot out here, Shepard?”

She released a long-held breath and willed the Commander to return. “I don’t care if we have to pack cans to Eden Prime, Garrus. I’m shooting this gun while we’re there.”

He straightened. “Well, let’s hope that some litter is the worst we’ll face. Their comms have been out for an, uncomfortably long time.”

“Hey, Commander?” Joker broke in, saving them from unwelcome contemplation. 

“Go ahead, Joker.” Garrus turned back to the weapons bench and laid a new Phaeston under the harsh work light. 

“We have the relay in range. EDI sent the coordinates out to the fleet a minute ago and Hackett wants us to head to Terra Nova once they show up. Look for survivors, gather resources, the usual song and dance.”

“They don’t want us to hit Eden Prime first?”

“I’m just passing it along, Commander. I’ll leave second guessing the admirals to you.”

“Ha. Thanks, Joker. You have an ETA for our next stop?”

“Figure an hour for the fleet to get here, then about three to travel to Asgard. Good time for lunch and a nap if you ask me.”

“Better get to the mess if you want lunch. Hal set up a regular smorgasbord earlier, but it was pretty well picked over when I left.” Garrus glanced back at this, and she tilted her head to the elevator. He raised a talon, _wait,_ and resumed working on the rifle.

Muffled swearing crackled over the comm. “Does he have that green sauce on everything again?”

Shepard grinned. “Nah, it’s on the side after your little episode the other day. Too bad, too, you should eat more greens.”

“Whatever, Mom. EDI’s got the helm. I’ll be in the mess.”

“Thanks again, Joker. Take the hour if you want it.”

“Will do. Thanks, Commander.”

Shepard slid from her perch. She returned Clair to her case in the locker and wrapped an arm around Garrus’s waist, leaning into his side, pressing his armor against him just, so. He thrummed a note that said _welcome, content, stay,_ and she did. He finished modding the gun and pulled her tighter against him when his arm was free, breath puffing warm into her hair.

“Let’s get you fed and rested, XO,” she said. “Terra Nova was goddamn bleak before the Sixth Fleet gave it to the Reapers.”

Garrus exhaled long and slow, his hum fading to a quiet minor key. Shepard sighed a low harmony, hoping it translated as _courage_ and _mourning_ and _relief_ and _gratitude._ His body shifted from loose to coiled as she did, and the look in his eyes as he turned to take her face in his hands was clear.

_We are one, come what may._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget there was a bigass piano in Anderson's apartment? Yes. Yes I most certainly did. Whooopsies!


	5. Lost Bread

The stink of mining slag and desiccated flesh assaulted Shepard’s senses before her boots could hit pavement. The LZ was scree and tech-violated entrails, and it mashed into a viscous grit under her feet. The air on Terra Nova was chemically viable, but she and Garrus grabbed their helmets anyway. She waved Cortez off, and he headed to the city to drop James and his four man squad in the residential district to sweep for civilians and salvage. From their vantage, the soaring apartment towers seemed unmarred by the war, but they all knew better than to hope for more than last words and dropped credit chits.

The massive foundry loomed over them, silent but for the grinding squeal of broken metal twisting in the wind, cold but for a single heat signature in the lowest warehouse under the mountain. The arching, splintered hellscape of towers and pipes, smokestacks and streetlights under the grey, blighted sky sent a buzzing in the back of her mind as she opened the scanner on her HUD. All clear, for the moment.

She motioned for silence and motioned them forward, their heavy steps soft on the ruined driveway as they passed nightmare heaps of bodies… human, Reaper, and several in-between. She checked the map as they approached the half open doors of the first building, holding her fist aloft for a halt. The map marked it an office building. Shepard signaled for a drone sweep of the interior, unwilling to enter the cracked and leaning structure for anything short of a rescue. Tali sent Chiktikka ahead on silent mode and they surveyed the wreck through the little drone’s eyes. Dust, papers, and corpses, consoles and coffee cups long gone cold. Tali recalled her drone and they moved on.

They swept the second and third buildings in the same way, only the drone nonplussed by the screaming absence, the chattering silence. Shepard set a hand on Tali’s shaking elbow after the fifth and last survey, the main smelting hangar, as choked with cinders and blood as the others. They clicked helmets to take a brief refuge in each other as Garrus maintained a wary eye on the pedways and driveways, the chipped corners and cracked walls. Ash and rot shifted in the breeze, and no one trusted the stillness.

Tali approached the tunnels on point, with Shepard behind and Garrus at their six. Flashlights on, they began the long descent into the barren platinum mines. Cold hands squeezed Shepard’s chest tighter with each rung she released, and when her boots hit the deep stone at the bottom, she could hardly breathe. A low ping sounded from Garrus’s helmet. His head whipped to her once he cleared the ladder. A hiss echoed through the hall as he released the seals on his armor to remove the helmet, and he helped her do the same. The air was stale, metallic and cold, but without the reek of death that permeated the world above. He held her shoulders and rested his mouth on her brow while she regained control, and Tali sent her drone in search of power and light. A hollow _shink_ and _chunk_ sounded through the cavern and caged lamps glowed to life, electricity humming and welcome as they squinted against the light.

A string of lamps led them down a long hall of hewn stone, toward the weak heat signatures EDI had unearthed in the scan data. Their best chance of finding survivors lay at the end of the tunnel. Their footsteps scuffed lightly over the rough stone floor and stopped when they came even with a locked vault. Tali scanned the circuits and found them booby trapped; any attempt to break the lock with brute force would end in shrapnel and acid. They shared a look, _definitely not Reapers, then._ They retreated around a corner and Tali sent Chiktikka to hack the door. When it hissed open, she sent the drone ahead to look for more traps. Two proximity mines detonated and the little drone popped, its weak shields no match for the concussive blast of the mines.

“So much for covert action,” Shepard said as they heard startled voices echo from behind the door. 

Garrus listened. “Human. Adults. Two males, five females,” he said in a low voice. Something rattled and his grip shifted on his rifle. “Armed. Armed and… terrified.”

“Bad combination,” Shepard murmured. 

“What now?” Tali asked, fidgeting.

“Gonna try the direct approach,” Shepard said. She diverted power to her shields, popped a barrier, and walked slowly into the room with her hands in the air. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

A rasping male voice called out from the shadows, “Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Commander Shepard of the Alliance. My team and I are here to help you.”

“Buncha fuckin’ bullshit. You’re here now? Where was the Alliance when the Reapers came? Fuckin’ running, that’s where. Leavin’ us to the machines!”

 _Shit,_ she thought, _how long have they been locked in here? _“How many of you are there? Is anyone wounded? We have a medical bay on our ship, if you would step into the light?”__

“The fuck is it to you if we’re wounded? Starvin’? The Sixth Fleet said they’d protect us, and they served us up on a platter. We were out in the open… children screamin’, they took everyone!”

Another voice, also male, cut in. “Reg, we haven’t seen a live Reaper in months. What if they’re tellin’ the truth?”

Shepard leapt at the name and the opening. “The Reapers were defeated. They’re dead, every last one. The Normandy is part of a joint human-turian fleet. We’re running search and rescue missions on all colonized planets and repairing the relays. Please, Reg. Come out.” She boosted her barrier, wary of the speakers, but more so of the silent. “We’re here to help.”

A haggard skeleton of a man stumped into a shaft of light. His greasy hair swung in lank strands, tattered and stained clothes hung from his bones, and eyes burning with madness and loss bored into her. Her heart wrenched in shock at his condition, so much so that when he leveled the shotgun at her chest, it never registered. 

She experienced the next three seconds through molten glass.

He pulled the trigger and she saw the flame lick from the short, ugly barrel of the gun. She threw herself to the side, diverting the full power of her barrier to the front. It absorbed the kinetic blast of the shot but jagged metal sliced through, embedding itself into the ceramic plate of her armor. Half of his skull turned to red mist as she fell, his remaining eye widening in surprise. Another shot rang out and punched into her back, just below the plating on her spine. She hit the ground and hit the medi-gel, cool relief swallowing the pain before it could overtake her. She heard the deafening report of a Widow fired in close quarters, she heard a wet slap against the rock wall, and below the ringing in her ears she heard the ruffle of a body slumping behind her. By the time she crawled behind a low crate, the battle was over.

A strained female voice cracked over them. “Staa-aaahp! Lay down yer weapons, ye great parliament of idiots!” Shepard heard a scuff of bare feet on the stone. “I swear ta godalmighty, I never shoulda joined up with you lot.” Shepard craned her neck over the crate to get a look at this new speaker. She was an older woman, leathery skin stretched taut over her bones, patches of hair missing from her flaking scalp. The woman flapped her hand at Garrus, not at all worried about the two meters of armored turian with murder in his eyes. “Stand down young man, y’already offed the troublemakers, and for that alone ye got my thanks. Go check on yer girly, she took a bullet in the back, may need carryin’ back to yer ship.”

Shepard wrinkled her nose at that. She’d taken plenty of bullets and walked back to the shuttle on her own power, damned if she’d let some random madman stop her. She braced herself on the crates and stood to meet this new leader. The torn muscle screamed as she straightened, and she hit the medi-gel again. She shook her head while the pain shrank back. “I guess Reg wasn’t open to a parley,” she said. “You got a name?”

The old woman rasped a laugh. “Norma. Norma Slade. Pleasure to meet the famous Commander Shepard in the flesh. Unfortunate that my nephew was too goddamn dense to know a legend when he saw one.” The other refugees huddled together behind her, the reek of their malnourished, unwashed bodies growing to a nearly unbearable level. The man who’d tried to defuse the situation lived, as well as two of the women. Their ages were impossible to determine through the grime. Norma Slade gestured to them. “We’re the last. Was about twenty of us holed up in this complex, but you Alliance took yer sweet time getting here.”

“The mass relays were destroyed with the Reapers and trapped us at Sol,” Tali said, “we got here as fast as we could.”

Norma’s head shifted back. “Relays, destroyed?” Shepard nodded, and Norma let out a low whistle. “Well… fuck me sideways. You pretty birds flew from Sol with your own wings. Came here for the platinum?” 

“Platinum, eezo from the power plants, and survivors.”

Norma barked an ugly laugh. “In that order too, I bet.” Shepard winced. “Nah pretty, I wouldn’t be lookin’ too hard for survivors either after everything this old rock has seen. Reapers got just about everyone, and the ones they missed starved to death once the airdrops from Eden quit fallin’.” She shrugged. “We got lucky. The old boss was a cracked fuckin’ nut, doomsday conspiracist and homesteadin’ fanatic. We lived like kings on MREs, potted meat, and pickled veg for the first year. No one thought to ration for more than a year, though,” she shook her head, flapping her long fingers at the room, “and here we are.”

Shepard shook her head. “It’s been nearly two years. How did you survive?”

Norma squinted at her. “Didn’t take _you_ for an idiot, Commander. There were twenty of us,” she said, jerking her head back to her companions. “We lost a couple to exposure when they scavenged too long in the desert and, well…” she looked through Shepard with a thousand meter stare. “Well,” she said softly, “there’s no such thing as lost bread among the starvin'.”

Shepard’s stomach turned, and she felt a trickle fall from the bullet wound and run between her skin and armor. She needed to get to Chakwas sooner rather than later. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.” She swallowed against the nausea. “Can you make it back to the surface? We have a shuttle in range and extensive medical facilities available.” Norma swept her arm to the exit and her followers rose on shaking legs. Shepard took that for a yes, and waved them ahead.

They set out at an easy pace. Garrus saw the hitch in her step and offered his arm, which she took after only a moment’s hesitation. Tali contacted Cortez when they made it back to the first room, and he and James’s team rigged a lift for the refugees. Garrus insisted Shepard take it up as well, and she caved with a token resistance. 

Really, it was quite nice, being lifted like this. Nice, and warm. Warm. She might lay down and take a nap, so nice. Whoa. Almost fell there. She scrabbled for a rope and she heard her name, it sounded sharp and worried. Weird. She leaned her cheek against the cold ceramic of her gauntlet and soon rough hands grabbed her waist. Huh. Soft, so many fingers? She looked up at James, his dark eyes, so dark… warm, she smiled and patted his cheek his neck as he looked up and shouted. Ugh. Loud. James, always so loud. Grit puffed into her face and made her sneeze, knocked heads with, oh, Garrus. I love you, she said. Maybe? Hard bands went behind her shoulders, under her legs and her perspective shifted up, up, spice and steel, blue and silver jostling her to a doorway. Yelling. More yelling fuck make it stop now, pounding on metal and a tiny drive core, so cute, roaring its tiny roar. Her name, far away, his eyes blue against the black, farther still. Sleep. She just wanted to…


	6. Eden, Exeunt Omnes

_…ostblood,severalpackets—status—singleround…backdiagonalpathsevered…iliacartery…_

Fragments slipped in through the dark, a press of bodies, cool air on her back, a solid weight pressed evenly on her lower body. Soft whirring behind her head, warm hands on her skin, familiar refuge sought countless times. Muted conversation, scuff of boots, a door’s hiss. The cowl pulled her hair. She tried to turn her head.

“Welcome back, Commander,” Chakwas said, gently freeing the red strands from the bed. “Try to stay still for just a few more minutes. The anesthetic is wearing off, but your muscle weave hasn’t finished setting.”

“Mmf. Mwrgh—”

“Try not to speak, either. You were shot in the back. The bullet passed through a joint in your armor, severed your right iliac artery, and fragmented into your abdominal cavity when it hit the front ceramic plate. The medi-gel, along with your implants, would have repaired the damage had you remained still, but Garrus tells me you insisted on walking.” Chakwas sighed. “You lost a frightening amount of blood, and you had holes in nearly every major organ.” She clicked her tongue. “I’ll say it plainly, Commander, you should be dead. Again.”

Shepard tried to heave a sigh, but a band of pain tightened around her chest and she coughed instead. “Rrs?”

Thick fingers slid between hers in their five-three grip. “Right here, Shepard,” he said, subvocals humming concern under his steady words. “Hackett’s here, too.”

“Nng? Ket?”

“He wants to debrief you in person,” Chakwas said. “After I’m satisfied, of course. Which I won’t be, until you _rest_ to let your body heal.” 

Shepard groaned as her legs began to wake up, the weight replaced by an unpleasant tingling. Chakwas sat at her terminal, typing and scrolling. After some time, Shepard heard the snap of latex gloves and the doctor stepped beside her again. There was pressure as a line of skin was smoothed over fascia into place, the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle fitted and seamed into a whole. A fierce itch flared, a hot strip down her spine as the skin knit itself together. A jab-hiss at her neck removed the last traces of anesthesia. She pushed up from the bed to claw into the fire at her back but Garrus was already there, kneading the line with gloved talons. She purred and arched into him, shameless in both her nudity and the deep pleasure of his touch, a lightning shock that traveled up her spinal column to her basest ganglia. She caught Chakwas in her periphery, rolling her eyes and settling before her terminal, no doubt updating Shepard’s burgeoning medical chart. 

Garrus stepped away all too soon to hand her a neat stack of gold-piped blue cloth, nothing but her best to meet with the admiral. He turned to look over the doctor’s shoulder as Shepard dressed, angled to keep her in his field of vision should she need an assist. She shimmied for him as she pulled the trousers up, teasing and grateful for his concern and the subtle way he knew to express it. _I’ll be here if you need me,_ indeed. 

She had finished buttoning the jacket and was trying to shake the last tingling out of her legs when the door opened to admit Admiral Hackett into the already crowded medical bay. She snapped him a crisp salute which he returned, unreadable. She fell to a tight rest, and he did the same.

“Admiral,” she said.

“Commander Shepard. I recall ordering you to avoid taking life-threatening missions, and you accepting that directive. Perhaps you can tell me why I’m here with a crate of synth O-neg to replace the one Chakwas used in saving you.”

She maintained eye contact. “The mission went sideways, sir. I hadn’t anticipated—”

“You hadn’t anticipated.” Hackett scowled. “Shepard, how long has it been since you’ve seen combat? Before this, unfortunate incident?”

Her teeth clenched. “It’s not something you forget, sir.”

“Hm. Can you tell me, in all honesty, that your intuition and reflexes served you well in confronting a group of unknown hostiles?”

She gripped her hands until her joints creaked. “I did not believe they would be hostile, sir. I made an error in judgment. It won’t happen again.”

"Good. The colonists who survived this war did it largely on their own, Shepard. Many of them will have no love for the Alliance, as you learned the hard way a few hours ago. The last thing we need is for the savior of the galaxy to be gunned down by malcontents on some backwater rock.”

Her eyes narrowed. “These _backwater rocks_ contributed a considerable amount of resources to the war effort, Admiral. I’m not going to stand by while people _eat each other_ to survive on them, now that the war is over.” The muscle in Hackett’s jaw popped, and she nodded. “Our Terrans left that detail out of their report?”

“They did,” was all he said. 

“Where are they now?”

“On Sirta’s ship, being treated for exposure and malnutrition. We made a sweep of the rest of the colonized areas while you were in surgery. They were the only survivors.” Her shoulders slumped. Four survivors, out of four million souls. Hackett went on. “The planet’s infrastructure is weakened but by no means irreparable, and there are natural resources down there that will be crucial to rebuilding.” He shook his head. “We faced a terrible choice with the Sixth Fleet, Shepard, but they held the line over Earth when the time came.”

“You did what you had to, Admiral.” She gestured to herself, to Garrus. “Same as all of us.”

“That ruthless calculus again,” Garrus murmured.

She frowned. “Ruthless... what _was_ I supposed to do, Hackett? We’re not at war anymore. We owe these people refuge. We leave them to die… what were we fighting for?”

Hackett dipped his head and took a step back. “I never said we’d leave them. We have specialized search and rescue teams for these ops. Next time your crew digs up a signal like this, send it to me.” Shepard closed her eyes and found breath hard to come by. _Specialists, who might have saved all of them,_ a traitorous voice in her brain supplied. She felt Hackett measure the cracks forming in her composure. “Shepard,” he said, his voice softer, “you have the entire fleet behind you. I know we’ve asked the impossible of you in the past, but you’re not doing this alone. Not any more.”

She met his eyes. “Understood, Admiral.” Her voice cracked. “Will that be all?”

He stepped aside, nodding. “Dismissed, Commander.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder as she left, arresting her momentum. “Four isn't zero. Let it be enough.” 

She nodded once, and left the med bay alone.

…

Garrus found her in the rachni queen’s quarters. The queen herself had curled around Shepard, raising a single antenna in greeting when he entered. Shepard sensed him in the distortions of her field. A tweak in perception and she read his heart rate, elevated, his breathing, likewise. There was a weight in his step. He’d been looking for her. She maintained the orb of dark energy above her palms and drew the field like a cloak around her, siphoning it into the sphere until it crackled. The queen’s low, sweet song threaded through the electric fizzle and pop, smoothing its edges. 

He stopped two meters out, watching. Slowly, Shepard teased a thread from her focal point and sent it into the ship, limiting the power, weaving a barrier in her mind’s eye. It flowed into the pattern, and she knew that an outside observer would see subtle arcs of light crisscrossed over the silver and blue hull. The sphere faded, and the barrier around the ship dispersed into the vacuum as the power in her hands approached null. She opened her eyes and wiped a trickle of blood from her nose as the last biotic pulse sparked out. The queen rose, bent her head to brush Shepard’s shoulder, and moved to the other side of the room.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” she said. He watched her, waiting for an invitation. She leaned against the wall and patted the floor at her side. “So,” she said as he arranged his long limbs next to her.

“So.” He put his arm around her, drawing her close.

“When I left—”

“Shepard I—”

She shook her head. “You go first, Garrus.”

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone, Shepard.”

She hummed. “Group of armed, scared humans, and I’m going to barge in with two meters of battle-ready turian at my six? They would have shot you on sight.” She studied her knees. “We could have lost all of them that way.”

A subaural growl vibrated in her chest. “If the other option is losing you—”

“You didn’t lose me.”

“This time.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m hard to kill. You should know that.”

He chuffed, unwilling to be amused at his words in her reply. “Bad things happen when you storm off without me, Shepard.” He ran the cool steel of his gauntlet over her hair. The queen sang her song of calm, and Shepard counted the seconds and hoped he wasn’t expecting an apology.

After a handful of minutes, he sighed and the tension dimmed. She leaned into him and exhaled into his armored chest, watching the fog of her breath grow and retreat on his silver plate. “What happened after I left?”

Garrus hummed, low. “Hackett’s upset, but not with you. Missions like this were SOP for the last three years on the Normandy. He knows you were only doing what you’ve always done. He should have advised you of the full resources at your disposal.”

“Hell of a way to find out,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Garrus?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I can do this any more.”

He shifted to catch her eyes. “What?”

She gestured to the walls, the window, the stars beyond. “This.”

He and the queen fell quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She looked at him, surprised, expecting more.

He shrugged. “You don’t think you can do this any more? Spirits, if anyone deserves to quit, it’s you.” He watched her. 

“I… aren’t you, don’t you think—”

He chuffed. “Trying to get me to talk you down, Shepard?” 

She flexed her fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She met his steady gaze. “It’s just, my first mission since… I blew it. Killed half the people I meant to save, nearly died myself…”

He shifted to sit in front of her and took her face in his hands. She pressed her cheek into the soft grained leather at his palms. “It was a messy win, Shepard, but it was still a win. Sure, you made a bad call going in alone, but you lived. The people who died… you weren’t going to save them. I saw it, more often than I could imagine back in C-Sec. Suicide by cop. They were desperate, Shepard. Desperate, and completely mad.” His thumb swept her cheek, the repetition of her name on his voice calling her back, grounding her sure as she’d grounded her biotic overflow into the ship. She felt a similar release.

“A messy win, then,” she said.

“And now we know about the search and rescue teams.”

“We do.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “We’re soldiers, Shepard. Our tools are bullets and blades, not hammers and nails. There’s no shame in it.” 

She sighed. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that.” She slid her hands over his arms. “I wish… I’ve been fighting for a galaxy that doesn’t need people like us, Garrus.”

He rocked his head gently against hers. “The galaxy will always need people like us. As long as you have power, you’ll have the powerless. Where there is plenty, there will also be want.” He huffed. “I thought we had it figured out in the Hierarchy. Good work for everyone, a sense of community, a strong social net to catch anyone down on their luck. Then I moved to the Citadel.”

“And the depravity of galactic society slapped you in the face.”

“I didn’t have a word for poverty before I joined C-Sec.”

She snorted. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“Mm.”

“Well. Since I’m not grounded, I guess there’s the next mission to look forward to.”

“Eden Prime.” He sat back. “Any intuition on this one?”

“I just want to dig up a berry plant for Hal and call it done.”

“Can’t hold that against you. I know the guys are hoping to find some feral livestock running around down there. I’ve nearly forgotten what steak tastes like, myself.” 

She looked through him calculating. “Most of the colonists were evacuated, right?”

“After the resistance kicked Cerberus out, yeah. Cerberus troops set fire to most of the fields and orchards when they retreated. A lot of the colonists showed up at the Citadel.” They were quiet then, unable or unwilling to find words that would capture the distant, howling abyss of another colony lost to the war, or their inability to feel anything about it. 

Shepard hummed. “Let’s find out how long we’ll be in this system. I can’t promise anything, but I’d like to find some time for a little R&R down there while we’re in the system.”

“Shore leave? On Eden Prime?” He rumbled deep in his chest, raising the hairs at the nape of her neck.

She glanced at the queen, who had perked at the mention of leave. “We’ll see,” she said.

———

Liara glanced up. “Hello, Shepard,” she said.

“Liara. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything for you, Commander.”

Shepard looked up at the bank of monitors, several still blacked out or buzzing in static. “How is the relay coming along?”

“The fabricators received materials from Terra Nova yesterday. With the additional platinum, they will have the resources to build three new Thanix arc welders, which should decrease the time needed to rebuild the main structure and gyroscopic containment to roughly five weeks. After that, it will take two days to introduce eezo into the mass effect core, and another four days until equilibrium can be established. A comm relay will then be tied into the larger relay, reestablishing regular communications with Sol.” A smile pulled at her lips, and Shepard grinned to see the Shadow Broker peek through her friend’s composure. “Once comms are running, a test drone will be the first to go through the relay. If it is received at Charon and sent back to us with systems nominal, the relays will be officially reopened. There are murmurs of a celebration once they are declared functional, but no one has stepped up to organize one.”

Shepard whistled. “Do you sleep?”

Liara flitted her eyes to her friend. “Only when necessary. If that was the favor…”

“It wasn’t. I’d like to know what the situation is on Eden Prime. Are there survivors, how many if so, the impact on native and non-native biodiversity, air and water toxicity, so on and so forth. Do you have anyone who could—”

Shepard stopped when Liara raised her hand. “A team of scientists conducted those surveys when we arrived in the system. The planet is safe, but deserted. Apparently the Reapers landed, but there were few humans left on the colony after Cerberus and the resistance razed the buildings and burned the farmland. We can assume the last holdouts were taken.” She tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

Shepard shrugged. “I thought it would be nice to get everyone off the ship for a while. Take off our boots for a walk in the grass, look for shapes in the clouds, hug a tree or five.”

Liara nodded. “Shore leave. The admirals have been granting allowances to take leave on the surface since the data came back clean. They have a campsite prepared within one of the wilderness preserves, near a large freshwater lake. I can put a request in, and have it fast tracked…?”

“Ha. I appreciate the thought, Liara, but I’ll try the old fashioned way first. Nice to know they’re taking care of us, though.” Shepard paused, then changed the subject. “Have you heard anything from Earth lately?”

“Nothing worth reporting. The krogan are settling in well at their base near old Perth, with several companies spread around the globe assisting in large scale public works. The rachni have wrapped up search and rescue and are now helping to rebuild the Tokyo metro area. All Reapers that fell in major cities in the Americas have been removed and sent for disposal, and those in Africa are slated to go next.” Liara hesitated. “The Athame sisters have been… quiet. None of my contacts have more than whispered rumors, but apparently something happened to a cell within their order.” Shepard raised an eyebrow. “I won’t repeat what is most likely wild conjecture, but they are no longer lobbying to restore the Citadel.”

Shepard hummed, thoughtful. “Thanks, Liara. See if you can find someone suitable to head up the celebration committee. It would be a shame to let an occasion like this go unmarked.”

“I agree. There are a few good candidates. I will test the waters.” She brushed Shepard’s elbow with light fingertips before returning to her monitors. “Thank you for coming by. It is always good to see you.”

———

Black cloth lay crumpled in the grass, warmed by the sun. Faint gold emblems caught the light and gleamed, a divided arch, three stars. The leather straps on the shoulders held their shape, a ghost of the muscle and bone that had given them form over the years. A few steps up the low hill was a small collection. Blue and neon green in a heap, vivid against the dark soil, tough cloth interrupted at regular intervals by metal clasps. One black boot stood watch over its mate, lying on its side. Both were rounded at the toes with a rugged tread, the leather old but loved. Crowning the rise was a weeping willow, a rough canvas in Alliance blue hidden within the leafy drape. The remaining clothing was piled around the blanket, black trousers, balled up socks, navy blue boots flaccid without digitigrade feet to fill them, lighter blue cloth piped with green and studded with buckles.

Two thick, plated toes stretched beyond the canvas and over the grass. The long, silvery talons at the end furrowed the soil as they drew under and back, severing the white roots below neatly as a sharpened trowel. He slid them together to shake off the dirt, _snik snik,_ and set his foot back on the blanket. Shepard leaned against the rough trunk and draped her arm along his cowl, running her fingers along the soft skin within. The earth below rumbled with the subaural hum in his chest, the low frequency transmitting from their hill to the surrounding kilometers. It shivered the bottom of the lake, the nearby forest roots. A flock of native birds startled at the sudden vibration in the branches and took wing, squawking their indignation. 

“Shh,” she said, “you’re frightening the wildlife.” She sipped her wine.

He chuckled and closed his eyes, angling his face toward filtered sunlight. “Can’t help it. I’m well fed and well fucked. The rumble will out.”

She choked at his profanity and bumped against him, laughing. “Geez, warn a girl next time,” she sputtered through her drink. He stroked her thigh. She coughed once more and cleared her throat. “Ngh. Anyway. Think James and his guys found anything worth hunting out here?”

“Would they know what to do with it if they did?”

Shepard laughed. “Probably not. James is a city boy. I don’t think he knows how to butcher cheese.”

“Those birds we saw earlier looked meaty.”

“Geese. They are. Think you could bag us a few?” He chuffed. “That’s my guy. Let’s go hunting.”

He rolled her into his lap. “Later.” A talon snagged a bunch of shining black grapes and she watched his long, agile tongue pop one off the stem and into his mouth. He offered them to her, and she used her lips to the same effect, _pop._ “I could do this… all day,” he said. 

She nudged the grapes aside to settle her cheek against his neck. He shook the stem from his fingers and wrapped his arm around her. She inhaled, sharp grass, cool soil, dusty bark, and him. She noted each pressure point from temple to ankle, the regular press of plates on her chest, the smooth expanse of their bellies, his hips edged on her thighs. There were long lists of tasks undone and items not gathered and buttons in need of pressing. She set them aside and filled her senses with this one, perfect moment under the lithe branches of a weeping willow.

Continuing from the crest of that hill, a vernal pool rested at the knobby roots of a forest. Spring peepers piped up a chorus of randy chirping, instinct goading them to make haste. A gentle breeze shifted in the canopy and waves of leaves echoed the light chop in the pool below. Beyond the sea of tranquil life, crumbling grey towers stood a senile sentry over a twisted, rusting tangle of rails and crushed train cars. Flowering vines twined through the wreck, the sweet fragrance of their blooms mingling with burnt sulfur and charred vinyl. 

A herd of feral cattle grazed in the shadow of a residential tower, no longer spooked by the wind that whistled through the shattered, smoke scarred windows. They paid no attention to the thick rope of smoke rising from the forest, or the strange cries in the distance. They had forgotten to fear man. 

In the following weeks, they would remember. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/21/2019: Edited to include the rachni on board. She's a big focus in an upcoming chapter, and I realized I established her in the last story but never revisited her in this one.


	7. Ignition One-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated on 5/3/2019. Minor plot, lots of added interlocking gears and background. More is more!

The door swished open and Shepard stepped back as warm, humid air rushed out. She waved it away, coughing, and entered Hal’Inzu’s sanctuary. She ducked under hanging vines heavy with bright green pods, and brushed aside a screamingly pink flower, large as a dinner plate. The long wall opposite the door was given over to several shelves of hydroponic beds, a riot of green, red, and purple leaves glowing under the artificial sunlight. The far end that once housed Javik’s water consoles was home to a bank of potted trees and the new berry plant from Eden Prime, which looked a bit wilted. 

Shepard found him tucked into a corner behind a bunch of bare, silvery stalks which had a certain prehistoric look to them. “Hal. Checking in on our newest addition. How is the berry bush feeling today?”

He stepped around the silver plant. “Unhappy. It misses the wind, I think. Here, feel.” He took her hand and guided it to the limp, waxy leaves. She took one and stroked it between thumb and forefinger, amused. “It has soil, an appropriate spectrum of light, water, minerals…” he shook his head.

“Maybe it needs some time to adjust. The rest of your plants came from ships, but this one had a whole planet to grow on.”

“You think… it’s homesick?”

Shepard smiled. “Is that what you’d call it?”

Hal nodded, paused, shook his head, and wrung his hands. “I… don’t know what else to call it. 

“Homesick, then. What do you do, when you’re homesick?”

“Me? I, er, hm. I watch vids, of my family, our ship. Listen to music, call home.” His omni-tool pinged. “What’s…”

“A recording I took on Eden Prime. Birds, frogs, that kind of thing. Maybe it wants some familiar vibrations.”

Hal looked at her and tilted his head. “Thank you, Commander. This is… unexpected.” He shuffled to the plant and opened the file. “I will keep you updated.” The recording played, and his room came alive with birdsong, water, and wind sighing through leaves. Shepard watched his shoulders relax as he lost himself in the sounds of a world full of life. She left quietly, feeling like an intruder on her own ship.

…

A group had gathered in the lounge to watch the relay ignition. Joy and Traynor stood behind the bar, mixing a new drink they’d made for the occasion. Joy waved Shepard over, brown eyes sparkling in her pale face, and hugged her. She’d transferred to the SSV Ranger on their arrival in the system, and this marked the first time she’d been back to the Normandy. She pressed a glass into Shepard’s hand, a bracing scent of mint, citrus, and rum wafting from the liquid. They clinked glasses, and Joy turned back to her conversation with Traynor as Shepard stepped away from the bar. A narrow aisle opened before her, Garrus at the end on the far side of the room. She moved through the crowd, a smile or nod to her crew as she passed, and she took his offered hand. They watched as the final shipments of eezo were shunted into the core, already glowing with latent power.

The drones were recalled to a safe distance while the startup sequence beamed to the relay controls. A thin line of energy pierced through the haze of element zero from the long arms of the relay, a faint echo in reverse of the sight they’d almost grown used to, the massive jolt of power that sent them to the ends of the galaxy. Singh caught her eye, a cautious glance and a question, _how are you?_ She answered with a half smile, _down but not out, boss._ He gave a small nod, _see me later,_ and returned his attention to the scene before them. Shepard exhaled and leaned into Garrus, trying to lose herself in his warmth and solidity, the star she sailed by when all else felt paper thin and uncertain.

He must have felt her tense. “Times like these, I’m grateful sound doesn’t travel through space,” he murmured under his breath.

She snorted. “I bet the Crucible team feels the same. Wish I’d studied the first relay ignition. Being so close without knowing what happens next is… unsettling.”

He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and pulled her close, and she was grateful he’d worn his soft clothing even as a buckle dug into her ribs. He shifted, and then there was only cloth between them. “And here I thought you were an expert on everything. What’s next, you won’t know the airspeed of an unladen swallow?”

“What do you mean, an African or European swallow?” She chuckled. “I can’t believe you remember that line. I should dig up some Monty Python for our next cinema night.” Garrus hummed and ran his thumb along her side. They watched the relay.

The massive rings began to move, slowly at first, then gaining speed over the next few minutes as the line grew to a beam, then a torrent. The rings began to blur and every person in attendance held their breath. When it seemed the whole thing might fly apart from the forces at play, the structure’s lights winked out and an electrical storm erupted from the eezo core, a Tesla coil on a planetary scale. Garrus tightened his arm around her and every heart raced at the blast wave of dark energy. It crackled against the surrounding ships, sparks of blue and green washing over every curve and crevice and setting them adrift in a fleeting ocean of light.

The relay core pulsed as it settled, the rings slowing to their stately pace with each ebb and flow of energy. The lights within the relay returned a few at a time, so much like stars appearing at twilight that Shepard found herself smiling. They raised a cheer when the last one flickered to life, relief settling light and cool over the simmering tension that had dominated the room. Soon it looked like every other relay had in Shepard’s lifetime, huge and alien and unknowable, powerful beyond words and utterly mundane. 

The group began to turn from the spectacle and break into smaller huddles of conversation. There were a few _Can you believe_ s and a _Hi Mom_ chorus from a group taking vids with the relay. Garrus was drawn into a cordial disagreement between Vega and Chakwas. Shepard heard the words “protein powder” and moved on. She stopped by Campbell and Inali, pleased to see they were deep in conversation. She kept her back to them, looking out the window and eavesdropping. She grinned as they talked. It seemed her ability to become unnoticed, carefully honed in her hungry days, was fully intact.

“Always take the chest shot,” Inali said. “My dad always said that going for the head shot is the mark of a callous hunter.”

“Akiko, you were chasing that damn cow all over the planet!” Campbell laughed. “Poor thing took forever to die. I think maybe cows are different than the xemna and nilgai your family kept on Benning.”

Inali scoffed. “It would have gone down in twenty meters if you hadn’t missed your first shot and spooked them.”

Westmoreland joined in. “The whole thing was cruel. Who kills defenseless animals for sport?”

“I didn’t see you turning any kebabs down tonight, Bethany,” Inali replied. Where did you think we got the beef?” Shepard heard a gasp. Inali laughed. “Meat shows up in the commissary wrapped in plastic, or ground into dust and reformed into a patty in your MRE. A lot of it is lab meat now, but it all came from an animal once. Especially out in the colonies. Our ranch on Benning supplied half the meat for Arcturus…” she didn’t finish the thought. 

A moment passed, and Shepard turned to watch them. Inali’s hand was raised to her face and her liquid black hair hung in a sheet, covering her delicate features. Westmoreland rubbed her back; Campbell looked uncomfortable. Shepard walked over.

“Your family did important work, Ensign. I visited the IO ranch once, after… well, after Elysium.” They all looked to her, understanding in their eyes. “It was beautiful. I spent hours on the stone bridge over the spring, watching the herds come to drink at the roots of the bald cypress.” Inali pressed her palms against her eyes, wiping at stubborn tears. Shepard paused, remembering. “I hadn’t felt safe in weeks, but I did there.”

Inali smiled in her sadness. “There was always something going on. If it wasn’t hunting season for the Arcturus personnel, the warrior program was open. That must have been when you came.” She thought for a moment. “I would have been about ten when you were there. I remember searching for reports with my friends on my omni-tool… our parents wouldn’t let us watch on the home screens, but we were all desperate to know.”

“Ten,” Shepard said. “Ten can be a hard age.” She looked down, twisting her ring. “I learned that the world wasn’t always a kind place around ten.” The young soldiers shared a glance. There wasn’t a lot of public knowledge about Shepard’s early years, just enough to know it was better not to ask. She dropped her hands and looked at them again. “Inali, I’ll make sure you get your ranch back. When this is over, you’ll have a place to call home.” Inali brightened, and Shepard held up a hand. “One condition. The warrior program takes priority.” 

“Of course, Commander. Anything.” Inali clicked her heels and snapped to a sharp salute. Shepard returned it, favoring her with a half smile that reached her grey eyes. She left them, pleased they had grown so close over the passing weeks. Westmoreland broke the silence with a question about nilgai, and Inali’s reply was technical and invested, a student’s zest for knowledge not yet mastered. Shepard cast a roving eye over the gathered.

Her gaze came to rest on Garrus, raising his hands in defeat and stepping back from a now heated discussion on the pros and cons of raw egg smoothies. _Where would we even get raw eggs?_ Shepard chuckled. Only a few weeks of orbiting a garden world with Hal in the galley and her crew was spoiled already. He turned, light on his toes, met her gaze and tilted his head to the door. She sent one more glance out beyond the ship, and was struck by the ambivalence she felt at seeing the live mass relay floating just outside the window. She felt Garrus watching her watch the relay, knowing he saw the sudden uptick in every biomarker, the shift from relaxed to ready.

“Credit for your thoughts, Shepard,” he said.

“We did that,” she said.

“Mm.”

“A billion years, Garrus. I don’t know about you, but I can’t grasp a billion. It’s too big. You think about a second, it’s nothing. A hundred seconds, that’s not quite two minutes. But a billion seconds? That’s almost my whole life.” She ran fingers through her hair. “That relay is over one billion years old. I broke it. I broke all of them.”

“Well, you did have some help…”

She snorted. “Fine, we broke them. And now… we’re fixing them. On our terms.” She twisted her ring until Garrus reached for her hand. She slid her fingers around his and twined her arm into him. “They’re saying at this rate, it will take around thirty years to repair the major relays. Nineteen years to get from one end of the galaxy to the other at our top speed, plus time for repair and refueling. One second for every year of the Reapers’ reign.” She sighed. “I’ll never see the whole network restored. Liara will, but I won’t.”

Garrus rested his mandible against her hair. “Well. We’ll just have to see the best of what we can, then.”

“Somewhere tropical.”

“Sandy beaches, fruit trees in the garden…”

“A little town in walking distance, with a little dual-chiro cafe…”

They studied the gyroscope in its endless cycle at the heart of the relay. The relay itself seemed mysterious and pedestrian, ancient and new, a reminder of deep evil, a hint at purest delight. She shuddered and he breathed in against her, the hair at her crown stirring as he exhaled.

“Let’s find a planet far, far away from anything the Reapers built,” she said. He hummed in what might have been agreement, and she chose to read it that way. There were long, full years between _here_ and _there,_ and she didn’t feel like fighting over a future she hadn’t let herself believe in yet. She dragged her attention back to the ship, its curves and lines, familiar and right and _theirs,_ and forced the mass relay from her mind. It was only a tool. A tool that belonged to them, now that the war had been won. 

The lounge had emptied as they talked. A small huddle stood at the bar, and two marines played hearts on the card table. Garrus shifted toward the door, a subtle invitation in his center of gravity. She drew the toe of her boot in an arc as she turned, an intentional echo of the dance they knew so well. He chuffed at her tease, and arm in arm, they left the room. 

———

Shepard stopped for a moment to let the door open. Liara glanced over her shoulder with a welcoming smile, and Javik spared her a grimace as he drew ripples in the dark water.

“Liara. You wanted to see me?”

“I did. Remember how we talked about marking yesterday’s event with a celebration?” Shepard nodded. “Well… I’ve decided to lead the committee myself.” Javik grunted, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He grumbled into his console.

Meanwhile, Shepard’s eyebrows had shot up. “You? Liara that’s—”

She hummed. “It’s relaxing compared to most of my daily initiatives. Feron has taken on a delicate mission and there’s little I am able to do for him directly. This is a welcome distraction.” Javik harrumphed again and stalked from the room. Shepard had a feeling that if the door could slam, he’d have slammed it. 

Shepard nodded to his console. “Trouble in paradise?”

Liara gave her a long suffering look. “You know him better than most, Shepard. What do you think?”

Shepard puffed herself up, back ramrod straight, eyes at half mast. “Primitives. So wasteful. In my day, we had no use for petty celebrations or good cheer. There was only the war. You were fighting, or you were dead.” Liara smirked, hard and unpleasant. Shepard relaxed into her body. “Go easy on him, Liara. Think of him as a baby, exploring a new life after endless, hopeless war.” Shepard tapped her lips, reconsidering the direction this train of thought had taken. “A highly intelligent, somewhat eerie, and very, very angry baby.” She paused. “No, that’s a terrible comparison.” She shook her head. “Regardless, all of his instincts are wrong for this postwar, multi-species kumbaya we have going. He has to relearn… everything he knows. That must be exhausting.” She laid a hand on Liara’s arm. “For both of you.”

Liara sighed. “The good times are wonderful. We could spend a lifetime sharing our knowledge and never run out of new ways to look at things.” She flushed a bit. “Melding with him, it’s unlike anything in the universe. Remember how tired I was, after melding with you?” Shepard hmmed. “With Javik, he comes to it so naturally, like breathing. There is no reluctance to join…” she frowned. “Though once joined, within him there are many hard walls, and deep wells.” She closed her eyes, took a breath and held it. She exhaled. “Then, there are the bad times. They come on like mountain storms, sudden, violent and utterly unpredictable. I never know which ancient ruin or turn of phrase will bring one on. Last time, he holed up below engineering for nearly a week. I went to check on him after a few days, and he was staring at his echo shard. He stared at it for thirty minutes. Shepard, I’m not sure he blinked.”

Shepard whistled, low. She hadn’t realized the echo shard still haunted him. “Want me to talk to him? Soldier to soldier?”

“I… yes. You and he share things, understand things in ways I do not. Asari culture does not value the submission of the individual to the whole, as human and protheans do.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far. In the military we do, sure, but that’s a means to an end. What did Samara say about humans? Get three in a room and you have six opinions?” Liara chuckled. “Humans are weird, Liara, and that’s coming from one who’s studied us for years. I’ll bend his ear, though. Thought he’d settled his business with the echo shard a long time ago.” She twisted the ring on her third finger, the hard, smooth band solid and reassuring under her fingertips. “So, tell me about your party.”

Liara turned to her console. “As you know, much of the farmland near the colony was destroyed. However, several distant farms were untouched, and equipped with automated systems. They have been growing, harvesting, and storing uninterrupted for nearly two years.” She paused, and Shepard could see her silent tally. “Most of that has been requisitioned by the Alliance for transport to Earth and restocking the fleet, but I’ve convinced them to part with what is ill-suited to long transport.”

“Like what?” 

“Seasonal forage like native berries and wild onion, several varieties of grape used in vinting, certain cuts of meat, that sort of thing. If the test run in three days is successful, the first shipment of goods will be sent right away. Given the capacity of our transport ships and the impressive fertility of this area, we should be ready to leave for Horsehead in seven days.” She smiled. “Plenty of time to plan a celebration worth remembering.”

Shepard tapped her chin. “Where are you holding it?”

Liara called up several blueprints. “Here is the lakeside community we have created since arriving in the system.” Shepard blinked to see it laid out in all its splendid geometry, far larger than it seemed while they were there on shore leave. “Impressive, isn’t it? This is the main site. Hal has designed a four day feast that will essentially prepare itself, once Inali and her team have delivered the animals. There will be several pits, with the first being lit tomorrow. The fires within will cook both flesh and vegetable, and when they are done, a small culinary team will prepare them for the table.” 

She took a small tray out from her desk. It held a large, waxy leaf, something that looked like a tortilla but wasn’t quite, and a melon with a short neck and a round bottom that fit neatly in her palm. “These clever leaves will serve as plates, and this flatbread as our utensils. These,” she tossed the beige melon fondly, “are our drinking glasses.” She snapped the top from it and offered it to Shepard. She sniffed it, and took a sip. The pink liquid was sweet and floral, dotted with tart, chewy seeds that gave it a pleasant texture. 

“Liara, this is really lovely, but what about the, er, other half of our fleet?”

“Hal enlisted some interested quarians for that effort, who will prepare formicid meat as he does for us. With access to the planet’s abundance of soil, sunlight, and fresh water, the colonies have produced more than enough for our purposes. We can share much of the plant matter, though their flatbread will be made with quarian grains. Did you know, they are using less of their stocks? Now that the formicid colonies and aquaculture program are functional, they have access to more nutritious calories. Ah, but this is merely a preamble to the main event.”

Shepard leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Liara smiled. “Telling is no fun, Shepard. It must be experienced. I did want to ask your opinion on one thing, however.”

“Which is?”

“How do you wish to be known?”

Shepard smiled, remembering the first time she'd asked this question. “Not to toot my own horn, but I’d say most people have an idea of who I am by now.”

“Yes, but what would you say to them? Do you say, I am Commander Shepard, servant of the Alliance? Do you say, I am Spectre Shepard, shadow hand of the Council?” Shepard frowned. Liara placed a warm hand on her friend’s cheek and looked deep into her. “Or do you say, I am Sloane Shepard, sword and shield of the galactic races, architect of our survival, and I belong to myself?”

Shepard’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Liara,” she whispered. She blinked away sudden tears.

Liara smiled, soft. “That’s what I thought.”

———

Garrus pulled his dress blacks over his head. The new uniform had several flexible metal bands across his chest, designed to be secured by someone else. He fumbled with them for a moment before giving up, grumbling. Shepard smoothed her silky black slip down her back and crossed to him. She began latching his bands in place, three dark silver bars for her general. He watched her, curious.

“We won’t exactly match, you know,” he said.

Shepard grinned. “Counterpoint, we make a fantastic match. You shot through the Hierarchy ranks so fast they had to invent a title and position for you. I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy, both the lowest and the highest ranking CO in the joint fleet.” She secured the final bar and he shrugged into his jacket. "They wouldn't be here if not for us." She took her dress from the closet. "I say that's earned me the right to wear whatever I damn well please." The black and silver dress slid down her body, delicious as the first time she tried it on. The tailor had done remarkable work to repair the damage she’d visited on it in London. 

Garrus shook his head, amused. "Sometimes I think you make a better turian than I ever have, and then that stubborn human streak shows through." He settled the low cowl on her shoulders, took a step back, and sighed. "You're magnificent, whether you're in full dress blues, or a little black dress." She smiled and brushed her lips on his mandible as she went to the bathroom to apply the finishing touches.

They shared the small mirror, smoothing scented oil into fringe, sweeping shadow over eyelids and tinted gloss on lips. She rested her chin on his lowered shoulder, filling herself with his scent of dust and amber, woodsmoke and spice. He capped the small glass vial, and she left him to set their boots near the door. She hesitated at her closet for a moment, then chose a sheer red scarf from her small collection. She knotted it snug against her neck, earning an approving look from her mate. They pulled their boots on and left for the shuttle.

———

A distant galaxy of stars flashed in the velvet black, only to wink out a moment later. Shepard flicked her dress and watched the silver thread shine and disappear, soothing as the stars overhead. Garrus cut a dashing figure in his uniform, all deep black and dark metal. His arm was loose at a jaunty angle, supporting hers with a deft, easy precision that appeared nonchalant to the casual observer. 

One who looked closer would see the delicate play between them. His perfect attention to the weight of her fingertips, her note of each shift at his shoulders, every turn of his head. They talked shop and laughed at the jokes their fellow dignitaries made as they waited to be announced, but between them was an undercurrent of give and take so constant, they were only faintly aware it existed at all. Garrus braced against Shepard as she reached down to flick the long side of her dress again, the smallest tightening of his arm and shoulder. Shepard shifted to her other hip when he turned to share a word with Primarch Victus, glancing out over the crowd to remove herself from their small consult and returning just as easily when the Primarch asked how their dextro habitat was faring. When the line moved forward with each name called out over the PA, they stepped forward together, a subconscious agreement that the right foot would lead. Admiral Zaal’Koris and the Hierarchy admirals were announced, followed by Admirals Hackett and Lindholm. Primarch Victus stepped ahead to be announced, his name followed by a great cheer. The MC turned to them.

“Advisor General Garrus Vakarian, Turian Hierarchy.” A pause, significant and solemn. “Sloane Shepard, Commander of the Normandy.” Silence fell on the gathered. The MC saluted them with a white gloved hand, and a rustling in the crowd whispered, _turn and see._ Everyone in attendance from the enlisted servers to the Primarch stood tall, saluting in every form and variation of the gathered races. She turned to Garrus to see his shoulders square, his arm raised, elbow bent at an angle exact and elegant, honoring her. She clicked her heels, channeled a thousand memories of Anderson, and saluted all of them in return.

A roar erupted from the gathered. The sound and focus were overwhelming, and as much as she felt love, she also felt snared. She held up a hand for silence. It was given. 

“We joined hands to defeat the greatest enemy our galaxy has ever known. Let this night be a promise. A promise to hold on, and together, build our future brighter than we could have dreamed! This, is our victory!”

They cheered and whistled, whooped and shouted. With her name called, her piece said, and her permission granted, the first act of the gala had concluded. The focus shifted from the couple in black and red at the top of the steps to act two of their gathering. Shepard and Garrus stepped from the last stair onto the wide pavilion unnoticed, and soon were lost in the swirl of asari dresses and military dress. 

Shepard took it all in, awed by the the resourcefulness of Liara’s gala committee. Night came early on Eden Prime, and lights of many shapes and colors were strung overhead. The structure had been an outdoor amphitheater. Low concrete steps rose in a semicircle around the oval stage, which was backed by thick, vine choked pillars several meters tall. Grass covered the tread and long, weedy runners trailed down the grey rise where once it had doubtless been neatly cut. Shepard liked that they had let it stay wild, a reminder that although this world had known man, it belonged only to itself for the moment. They were visitors here.

A long banquet had been set to one side of the stage, laden with glossy fruits and tiny levo and dextro hors d’œuvres. Servers glided through the crowd balancing trays of cocktails garnished with citrus twists and sprigs of herbs or tiny sugar frosted berries, and Shepard picked off one of each for herself and her mate. They sipped their drinks as the party swirled around them. 

There was music and dancing; they took part in toasts and cheers. Shepard managed to catch Liara’s arm once, to brush a kiss on her blue cheek. Liara smiled and was whisked away to attend some aspect of the gathering. The night was a blur and a wistful goodbye for Shepard, but as the party went on she saw the shine in Garrus’s eyes when he looked to the stars. She swept her fingers over his arm and he looked down to her. She smiled and leaned into a shadowed alcove and together, they slipped from the amber glow of tiny lanterns. 

He kissed his forehead to hers, their mingled breath sharp with alcohol and sweet with fruit. Several long moments passed, neither willing to break the spell. His hands rested at her waist and hers upon his shoulders, a tableaux that might have seemed juvenile but for the weight of loss they carried, the burden made lighter by the strength of their connection.

“Hm. Bit of a rough start to our first major operation,” Shepard said, “but, the finale is making up for it.”

“It was something,” Garrus replied. “Back to it tomorrow, though.”

“It. Endless black space spooling out infinitely before us.” She sighed. “Will we see your planet?”

“My? Planet?”

“The one you crashed my ship on.”

“Ah. Mm. I sent the coordinates to the admirals when we arrived in Earth orbit, so I imagine it’s up to them.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “There are a few places I’d like to show you, if we do.”

“Maybe we can even give it a name,” she said.

He chuckled. “No one wanted to get too attached,” he said. “You know how it is. Name something, and it follows you around forever.”

She traced the mark tattooed on her shoulder, the lines already blurring after her last touch up on Earth. “I do,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preachy, somewhat relevant PSA: The IO ranch is a little bit game ranches I grew up around in Texas, and a little bit equitherapy programs I volunteered for in high school. Mental health is for everyone. Going to therapy when you're feeling down should be as common as a visit to the doctor when you can't kick that lingering illness. Take care of yourselves, babes. 
> 
> This will be the last update for a while. With the return of the sun comes less time to sit and dream, and less still to clack away setting those dreams down. Never fear, though. No matter how long the new chapters may take, I couldn't possibly abandon this story.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @fasterpuddytat for original city photos, reblogged research, and sporadic gamer thoughts. Or don't! I'm not your boss.


	8. Bird's Opening

Shepard joined Lieutenant Adams atop the Kodiak. He gave her a brusque nod without breaking contact with his team. She hummed, impressed with the soldiers below her. The Normandy drill team was small by necessity, only nine where the Ranger had at least twice that number, and the turian dreadnoughts had still more. She’d seen some turian drills while they waited for the Exodus relay repair. Exhibition drilling wasn’t in their deep history as it was for Earth, but like all martial arts, they took to it with a natural finesse Shepard had been only a bit jealous to see.

“Fall in!” Adams’s voice whipped the team forward. She stiffened slightly as well, years of training responding to the command in his voice. “Left face! March! Left right, left, left.” The soldiers didn’t slow as they neared the rear wall. Shepard knew the feeling, the necessary trust that your DI wouldn’t walk you into walls or trenches without purpose. 

“Left right, to the rear, MARCH.” As one they turned, a flock of birds, a shoal of fish. Shepard’s chest filled with regimental pride. She watched the quarians in third squad, her turian at the head of second. Their knees broke the precise lines of first squad, but they measured their steps to match the humans and carried their shoulders steady. Adams called a staggered about face, drawing them back in line by the second round of calls, then guided them around the shuttle bay and peppered the exercise with some call and response. They returned to center. “Parade, rest!” She raised an eyebrow at that call, but all nine snapped to a clean parade rest facing them, a nearly perfect square thanks to Garrus’s best attempt at shrinking himself to standard human size.

“Fall out!” The formation broke, arms were shaken, necks cracked. “Armed drill in five!” Six marines took up rifles and Adams started a metronome. Vega joked around with one of the newer marines, a young biotic with vanguard training who was almost as big as he was. _Riva, Riva… Jesús!_ Shepard scolded herself for losing his name. Adams barked at them to focus, and Garrus, Tali, and Hal stepped aside to watch rifles spin and strike to the harsh beat. Shepard dropped from the Kodiak to join them.

“Nice work out there,” she said. “Crisp.”

Tali gave her a half shrug. “It’s not something I’d have done on my own, but I am glad Hal talked me into it.” Hal rubbed his arm, excited to be mentioned, uncomfortable at the attention. Tali bumped him with her hip. “He has good ideas, even if it takes a tractor beam to drag them out.”

Shepard chuckled. “I’ve noticed. Tali, have you heard anything about those samples you sent to the Crucible team? I was going through old notes and realized…”

“Nothing. I checked in with them before we left. They pulled several off the flotilla too, but they’re the same. Just… rocks. The lead researcher said they have hundreds of kilos now, a little mountain sitting in deep freeze.” 

“Have they run any other tests on them? We were pretty limited in what we could do.”

Tali shook her head. “They were busy with the relay. Maybe they’ll have time while we travel to Horsehead. I’ll keep in touch with them?”

“Do that. I have a tickley feeling about them.”

“Likewise.”

 _Ping._ “Commander Shepard.”

“Go ahead, EDI.”

“The long range scanners have found something.”

“Be right there.”

…

The console indicated a mid-range yellow star orbited by two rocky planets and a gas giant. EDI’s physical body shifted its weight as Shepard studied the composition and density of the planets and their moons. 

“Completely uncharted?” Shepard asked. 

“There are no records of this system in any database I can access,” EDI replied. “Its distance from active relays and relative youth of the star indicate that it formed after the Reaper cycle began. It is likely that the system was incapable of sustaining life until recently, making it low priority for the Reaper’s designs.”

“Send the coordinates to Hackett.”

“Right away.” EDI’s eyes unfocused for a fraction of a second. “Both rocky planets have the potential to harbor life, though the innermost is tidally locked with its star.” She paused again. “Admiral Hackett has received the data and will be calling the admirals to discuss a diversion.” 

“Let me know what they decide. Prep headings in case they send us.”

Joker swiveled to his nav console. “On it, Commander.”

“Thanks, Joker, EDI. Nice work.”

Shepard left the flight deck at a loose jog, lightly cursing her biotics as her stomach rumbled a scant two hours past breakfast. She almost made it to the elevator before being stopped.

“Commander Shepard!” Traynor came near to tackling her as she went past.

“Specialist?”

“Commander,” Traynor walked with her to the elevator, shoulder to shoulder and whispered so low even Shepard’s implants barely picked up her words. “Liara would like to see you. She said it’s urgent.” When Shepard opened her mouth, Traynor hissed. “She sent a deeply coded message to me, top secret. Act. Normal.” 

Shepard stepped away. “I appreciate your discretion, Specialist, but the crew already knows XO Vakarian and I are… involved.” She winked at Samantha as the CIC murmured and chuckled around them. Traynor groaned and returned to her station, shaking her head.

Arriving on the crew deck, she headed to the galley first. Whatever Liara needed would keep, but her body would not. _Better to receive bad news on a full stomach anyway,_ she thought. Opening the levo fridge, she once again gave praises to all the gods and spirits for Hal’Inzu nar Chayym. He’d marked two full shelves for biotics and kept them stocked with a religious fervor. The boxes were all marked in several languages with Hal’s flowing script, and her heart swelled five sizes when she read through them. She made a mental note to offer him time to practice his English with the crew. _Perhaps Singh could be convinced to start a poetry club? We hardly lack for time between the relays._

She pulled one box marked “Sasaj n Pepr” and tossed it into the oven, then another, “Bery Pi.” She considered the two boxes once they had warmed, then added one more, “Salad n creem.” Creem. That was his decadent herb spread. Shepard could almost taste it as stacked the boxes into two shallow bowls, grabbed two wrapped forks, and turned the corner to Liara’s quarters. 

When she pressed the door console, a red light greeted her. The intercom buzzed, “Who is it?” Shepard’s eyebrows rose. Liara’s voice was hoarse. _Like she’s been screaming._ She blinked. _Where'd that come from?_

“It’s Shepard. Can we talk? I brought early lunch.”

“Shepard, of course. Please, come in.” The red light flicked over to green and the doors slid open. Liara didn’t acknowledge Shepard at first, but sat at her far console as if frozen. Javik lounged near his water console, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. 

“Javik, I didn’t know you’d be here… I only brought enough for two—” He waved her off and returned to his water, so far elsewhere he became one with the furniture. Shepard pulled a chair and table over to her friend and opened the boxes, divided two portions of everything, unwrapped her fork and dug in to Hal’s “sasaj n pepr.” A soft moan escaped her as she ate, the dense, lemongrass-scented sausage, sticky rice, and velvety pepper and onion in every bite. Liara glanced over at the food and returned to her console. 

“Hey, you okay? You just looked at our lunch like food was a foreign concept.”

“I, am… I’m sorry, Shepard. Remember that I said the Sisterhood had gone quiet?” Shepard nodded, her mouth too full to reply. “They were sending teams to the Citadel illegally, after it had been moved into orbit around Mars. Feron… Feron risked his life to obtain footage from the last.” She stopped to bite her lip.

Shepard swallowed and set her bowl down. “What happened, Liara? Is Feron—”

Liara shook herself. “Feron will be fine. He escaped with minor injuries. What he found, though… you will have to see for yourself. Please,” she tilted her head to the food, “finish eating. You may not feel like it, after.” Shepard looked at her friend, then looked at their food and started eating again. She’d seen plenty of awful things, and her body demanded fuel. Liara sighed and joined her after a few quiet minutes, mostly pushing her sasaj around the bowl but occasionally taking small bites of the salad and the berry pie. 

When one bowl was clean and the other stripped of its fruit and vegetables, Shepard turned to Liara to observe her friend. She had aged a hundred years since becoming the Shadow Broker. The weight of a galaxy’s secrets both petty and horrific pressed down on her every moment, turning her hard and sharp. And yet, something on the Citadel had her rattled. It wasn’t a comforting thought. 

“Liara—” _Ping._ Shepard sighed as she opened her omni-tool. “What is it, EDI?”

“Admiral Hackett has approved a small recon fleet to divert to the new system. The Normandy is to approach alone and maintain full stealth until we have negative confirmation of sapient life.”

“Go in solo to spy on them, make sure no one can spy back, got it. What’s our ETA?”

“Time of arrival is sixteen hours, twenty-one minutes, four seconds.”

“That’s… a very precise estimate.”

“It is not an estimate. Barring unforeseen complications, we will arrive in the system in sixteen hours, twenty—”

“Thank you, EDI. Joker, break formation and give the order to move out when ready.”

“Aye aye, Commander.” 

She closed her omni-tool. Liara was lost in her console again, her hand resting lightly on the screen. “Liara,” she tried again, “what can I—”

“Shepard.” She closed her eyes. “I am sorry to call you here. This… this can wait until we are en route to the relay again. There is nothing we can do at the moment. I only…”

Shepard laid a soft hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, Liara, we’ll handle it together. Yeah?”

Liara sniffed. “Yes. I believe we can.” She turned to Shepard. “Thank you, for coming so soon, for bringing this food. I was… in a dark place, before you arrived.”

Shepard smiled. “There are very few things in this life that can’t be improved with a slice of pie.” Her smile faded. “You will tell me though, right?”

Liara nodded. “It is too big for me to handle alone. I’m afraid I will need Spectre Shepard, Savior of the Galaxy at my side when the time comes.” 

Shepard squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll have her, I promise.” She stood and stacked the boxes and bowls into a manageable tower. Glyph hummed a happy tune to her as she walked past, and she spared a last look back at one of her oldest friends. Javik had moved to place his hands on Liara's shoulders. Her eyes closed as she turned her head to rest against his chest. Shepard left, grateful she wouldn't be alone.

———

The young star was bright and welcoming even at the edge of its small system. The Neptune-class gas giant was primarily hydrogen and helium, banded by stormy lines of white ammonia and blue methane. There were eleven moons of varying size, activity, and chemistry, one of which scanned as unusually rich in eezo. The Normandy hid in the asteroid belt beyond the gas planet. Two small probes were launched when the rocky planets scanned radio-neutral, one to each, and they waited for their data to return. The innermost planet replied first. The chances of life evolving there were already slim because it was tidally locked to its star, so no one was surprised when it read as barren. There were significant deposits of platinum and tungsten, however, enough to justify orbital mining for the present, and perhaps a colony in the future.

The middle planet’s data took several more minutes to arrive, and Joker let out a whoop when they saw it. The surface was seventy-three percent water, most of it liquid in shallow seas with small ice caps at the poles. Atmo was Earth-range N, O, and C oxides, temps a comfortable twenty to forty degrees C in the temperate areas, falling to neg-thirties at the poles. Life was abundant, and in an unusual stroke of evolution, almost entirely based on dextro-aminos. It was a standard dextro garden world, rare enough in the galaxy, but that wasn’t the good part. Shepard and Joker squealed and performed a careful high-five.

It had _dinosaurs._

Warm temps, shallow seas, and the primitive monocots and fern-like plants marked the era as analogous to Earth’s late Triassic period. They flipped through the images as quickly as the probe sent them. Here was a forest of tall clustering trees similar to palms, rough, woody trunks that unfurled to massive fans of leaves at their apex. Here, a shoreline littered with what looked like logs, but closer inspection revealed flat heads, round bodies, and short, stubby legs. And here, _here,_ a curious bipedal honest-to-god dinosaur, wicked intelligence in its slit pupils as it studied the intruder. Now, oh dear, a shot of the sky as the probe was lifted in strong claws, then blurry canopy… hot damn this little bugger was _fast._ Blue flecks began to edge into the outer lines of the images. Suspiciously like a biotic field, but how could that be? Shepard rubbed her eyes and made a note to grab forty winks before making any important decisions.

A string of blurred green and blue images flicked by as the dinosaur _not really a dinosaur but what else would I call THAT_ carried the probe through its forest. After a while, the pictures darkened. The forest seemed to be denser where it had gone, and now, the first clear image since the dino’s initial glamour shots. A nest, fronds and stems woven together and patched with earth, three speckled eggs, two dino parents, and a space probe in a pear tree. 

A small alarm sounded as she studied the family photo, growing louder as it was ignored. She tore her eyes from the image to turn it off, but stopped, her finger hovering over the key. The eezo readings were off the charts. She looked at the dino family again, a new image now. The larger of the pair was moving closer. A blue field surrounded it, growing stronger with each new image, until the images themselves became blurred with biotic interference. She, _why do I think that one is the female,_ observed the camera just as her mate had, and again Shepard saw that same intelligence in her green-gold eyes. Whatever she made of the probe, she must have decided it was both harmless and interesting. She curled herself around the small clutch and kept a weather eye on this new, shiny toy her mate had found. 

Shepard whistled long and low. Biotic dinosaurs. What would evolution think of next? She left the flight deck to report to Hackett.

…

“Dinosaurs, Shepard?” Hackett grinned and shook his head.

Shepard shrugged. “You saw the same images I did, Admiral. If that’s not the nearest thing we’ve seen to a theropod family out here, I’m part hanar.”

“Our biologists can look after the native fauna, Commander. Were you able to pinpoint the source of eezo on the planet? We don’t see concentrations like this without advanced tech being involved.”

“No, sir. The readings are all over the place. Some places read higher than I’ve ever seen, and other areas have none at all. Traynor did find a pattern in the spread of grassland and forest, however. She thought perhaps—” 

“Again, we’ll send that data to the Rissage. Your priority is securing as much of the element zero as possible. Have your people draw up a map of eezo deposits and assign teams from recon fleet to retrieve what they can, as well as a basic array of samples from their areas.”

She grumbled too low to transmit over the comm. “Yes, sir. I’ll have the map and assignments done before night cycle. We’ll launch in waves to chase the daylight.”

“Very well. Hackett out.” His image fractured into pixels as the link was cut. 

_Ping._

“Yes, EDI?”

“The rachni queen has been pacing in her quarters since we arrived in the system. She seems… distressed.”

“Thank you, EDI. Hackett wants a map of every eezo deposit on the center planet. Deploy the mining net and make that happen for us.”

“Right away, Commander.”

Shepard sighed. If nothing else, she had a solid nine hours before they could begin landing on the planet. She shuffled to the aft entrance to what was left of the SR-2’s original armory. Most of it had been claimed for the war room, then reclaimed once the war was over. The door opened to a long, dim room, much of which was given over to various experiments Shepard made neither heads nor tails of. 

The young queen had stopped pacing and instead posed stone still, looking out her window and keening softly. Her glowing eyes were bright in the low light, her carapace a burnished red that was nearly black. She bent her head to brush Shepard’s hand when she neared, and resumed her lonesome watch. Shepard noted that her back legs were tight against the opposite wall with a twinge of guilt. She was growing too large for the Normandy.

“Hey, what are you looking for out there?” Shepard asked. The queen whistled a sad reply. “Can you show me?” She offered the carapace over her thorax, and Shepard rested her hand on the warm, smooth surface. She closed her eyes and let the queen into her mind.

_Faint song, ancient and half-remembered. Early song, the earliest. They were home… they are here. Fleet fleeing the darkness, a broken song from this moon. Many in the living world. I must go to them. They… mourn. We can ease their suffering. Oh! They mourn._

The queen let her go. Shepard swallowed an immense sadness she knew wasn’t her own while the queen hummed a soft note. Shepard sat on the floor, and the queen dropped her watch to curl around her as she had after Terra Nova, resting her head on Shepard’s crossed legs. 

“Join us on the ground team when we go,” she said. “We’ll offer what aid we can.” The queen hummed, grateful. They sat together, taking comfort in each other, until Shepard’s omni-tool pinged again.

“Yes EDI?”

“The map is complete. I have taken the liberty of connecting all recon captains with the Normandy. They are awaiting orders, Commander.”

Shepard stood and shook pins and needles from her legs. “Thanks, EDI. I’ll talk to them in the comm room.”

“Of course, Commander,”

She looked at the young queen. _She won’t be able to turn around in here soon._ A light sigh escaped her. The queen rose to her feet and began to sing a low song that shifted from major to minor, then flitted into a different, alien scale. Shepard rested her hand on the offered carapace once more. The touch of the rachni’s mind was feather-light and soothing. Shepard closed her eyes.

_You are precious to us. We offer connection. Call, and we will answer. Weep, and we will sing for you. You will never be alone in the universe._

Shepard watched as the queen raised a claw tipped foot. A smaller claw emerged, transparent, fluid filled and needle sharp. Shepard understood. The rachni offered her a place in their mind, a chance to join their serene harmonies. She leaned into it, then flinched back. Unbidden memories of war, loss and agony both ancient and new consumed her. She clenched her teeth as she fought the Prothean’s history, her own. Her mind was overfull already… the beacon, Liara’s lingering touch, death both personal and professional… she shook her head. 

“I am honored,” _gratitude and sadness,_ “but I can’t allow my discord to taint your song.” The queen hummed sadly as her needle retracted. She pushed her body against Shepard’s chest and thrummed a solemn tune that purred through her sharp and hollow places, filling them with a momentary stillness. Soon, too soon, Shepard stepped away. Five captains both turian and human waited for her. “Thank you,” she breathed.

The rachni looked at her, and she didn’t need contact to understand. _No. We, thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bird's Opening is a chess move, get your minds outta the gutter. ;) 
> 
> My entire experience with military drills is about 20 minutes of YouTube videos. Let me know what I got wrong and how to fix it!
> 
> The rachni's needle is inspired by Nnedi Okorafor's Meduse from her Binti stories. Can't say more. Spoilers.


	9. Friends in Low Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a good deal of content back in Chapter 7, so if you're interested in how the big party came together feel free to head back and give that a looksee.

The Kodiak landed with its tiny roar and a soft thump, its weight cushioned by thick grass. Cortez had set them down on a low hill in the middle of a wide grassland, centered on where the eezo readings were highest. Vega and his team, Riva, Inali, and Westmoreland, struck off to the forest’s edge. Shepard, Garrus, and the rachni queen kept nearer to the shuttle, testing the ground for the source of the eezo. Shepard watched the queen flow through the tall grass, awed by her grace and perfect adaptation to every new environment. She trilled, transmitting her joy at fresh air and solid ground to all who wished to hear. 

“Shepard, over here!” Garrus stood by another low rise and whistled a sharp note. She jogged up to him and rested a hand on his lower back when she drew alongside. A large rectangle was described in the grass on the side of the hill, the outline sharp against the gently waving blades. “That says ‘door’ to me.”

“Closed door,” she said. “Think we can open it?” She kicked her heel in the center of the “door” and a hollow _thoomp-thoomp_ reverberated beneath them. She shivered. “Metallic echo. Someone made this.” Garrus nodded. She grinned up at him, shading her eyes from the sun. “Ready to do a little light gardening?”

They got down on hands and knees and stripped several layers of sandy soil and grass from within the door. A hundred or so centimeters down, they found metal. A soft chatter sounded behind them and they leapt up, guns at the ready and biotics flaring. The queen shrunk herself and whistled a sad note. They dropped their weapons to hold up empty hands, and the queen stepped back to her full size. 

“Sorry, sorry. You surprised us,” Shepard said, sending calming and apologetic thoughts toward her. The queen opened and closed her multi-part mouth, and brushed Shepard’s shoulder with light antennae. _Forgiveness, understanding. Help._ She stepped down onto the door and immediately the grey, tarnished metal began vibrating. Shepard rested a hand on her carapace. “Yours?”

_Not ours. Ruins on our home planet. They taught us to sing._

“What was that, Shepard?”

She shook herself and looked at her mate. “She said the people who built this were on the rachni home world as well. Their ruins taught the rachni to sing… probably jump started their evolution.” The queen chittered and looked pointedly at the grass beyond the door. They hopped up and a shiver ran through the frame when they were clear. The door creaked open to reveal a low, dark tunnel leading under the grassy plain. The queen stepped inside. A million tiny points of light fluoresced in her chitin to bathe the smooth walls in a soft aqua glow. Shepard shook her head. _They said I was crazy to let her go,_ she thought. _The galaxy would have been poorer without them._ The queen whistled a short, low note. It echoed through the tunnel, empty and strange. She ducked her head, pleased, and led them below.

The hallway, as it soon became clear it was a hall, sloped down under the lush plain. The echoes, along with the massive sheets and beams in the construction, suggested a structure of incredible proportions. _Like walking though the Everest,_ Shepard realized with a growing awe. She trailed her fingers along the strange metal as though she might parse the different elements that formed this shining alloy through touch alone. Designs were stamped in the metal at measured intervals, and as she stopped to look at another, Garrus stopped with her.

“Metric, but in sixes the way turian and quarian measurements count.” His voice was low, as though he didn’t want to wake whatever slept beneath them. Shepard nodded as she glanced back to the last set, a sixth sense tingling as his must have. Those designs were not decorative. They were not alone. The queen whistled, and they continued their descent.

The hall stretched for another quarter kilometer before opening to a cavernous room. A sickly blue light pulsed from a damaged drive core at the center, a likely source of the planet’s eezo. Shepard checked her omni-tool, surprised the haz-alarm was still quiet. Eezo readings were neutral, despite the obvious deterioration of the core containment. The queen motioned them to a dark console, indicating that Garrus should lay his three fingered hand in a depression within. She fitted her four-clawed foot into another on the other side, and the console sputtered to life. The core stabilized immediately, emitting a strong, calming hum as nanites formed a cloud around the worst of the damage. The queen trilled, high and excited and near lost in the rush of what her ancestral knowledge had sparked. 

A holograph appeared over the console, a bust of some kind, glitchy and fuzzy around the edges. Shepard looked at Garrus and shrugged. She didn’t know if the image was unclear because of its age and deterioration, or because the shape it took was so alien it only appeared broken. It emitted a series of short tones, varied and oddly beautiful. The queen replied in kind, and Garrus shot a glance to Shepard as they spoke. She gave a stiff nod. This craft was what slept beneath them, and they had woken its AI. 

The conversation between rachni and ship ended. She moved to Shepard’s side and offered her smooth carapace once more. Shepard rested her hand on her, and prepared her mind for the rachni’s touch. Garrus stood ready nearby, in case the young queen was too eager. Shepard closed her eyes, and fell into blackness.

 _Soft, dark, safe. You are safe here, human queen. This is an old song-home. Older than us, older than the warlike one you call first. This song-home fled war, horror as we have twice seen. The song of its crew turned sour and yellow, and the home became un-home to save itself._ Sounds and images of an organic crew turned against each other, then silence after the ship vented its atmosphere. The organics had been a bipedal species. They made her think of the capybara she saw during ICT in Brazil, with their dense fur, keen eyes, and sharp teeth. The AI’s avatar was both like and unlike its creators. Shepard wondered who had made the distinction. _There are others on this planet. Many are broken and lost, but some are whole. I have sung our victory to the keeper of songs. She wishes to join us, to aid us. They would spend lifetimes wandering in the empty spaces. She longs for the stars. She wonders, if any remain from her time._ The queen released her.

“You believe her intentions are good, queen?” The rachni trilled, hopeful. “She will share her knowledge with us? Those nanites…” The rachni trilled again, an affirmative. 

“Please… share…” Shepard whirled back to see the avatar stutter and fizz. It spoke again. “Please, I can… cannot. See. So long.” A loud pop rang out in the huge room, echoing from the hard, bare walls. The avatar blinked out and reformed, cleaner than it had been before. Shepard could see the differences more clearly with its return. The eyes were sharper, teeth less so, and where the organic crew had been covered in fur, the avatar’s skin was bare. Its words came easier. “Her song is true. Yours as well. I longed to hear another pure note, for a million cycles. I have longed to return to my home in the open places. Her song is true. I will see the stars again, be they mine or no. What gifts were given me, I give freely onward. Please. I have not seen them in so long.”

A shiver ran the length of Shepard’s spine. An AI capable of seamless cross-species communication. A culture dedicated to exploration. Shepard twisted her ring as thoughts ran circles in her skull. _This vessel would be invaluable to the mission, but can it be trusted? What might we learn? What might we lose?_ She slammed the whirling of her mind into a locked room. It was one ship. They could obliterate it, if necessary. “What do you need to return to the sky?”

The avatar looked at the queen. “Only her.” The rachni queen stroked the console. Shepard could see she had already chosen to stay. “One voice is not enough for harmony. Two shall lift. In time, we will be a chorus. The chorus will return for my sisters.”

Shepard crossed her arms and looked out over the room. This space would allow the queen to move freely even after she was fully grown. The thought of losing her so soon hurt, but when she turned back to watch the queen and her console, a warmth she might call maternal unfurled in her chest. This was a place the rachni could call their own. 

“You were never mine to command, queen. If this is what you want, take it.” The queen looked up at her and fluttered her mouth. “My… blessing?” The rachni dipped her head. Shepard knelt to look into her faceted eyes. “You have it. You have since the beginning.” The queen flowed around her in a strange, ticklish embrace. With her touch came a singing, a shining in Shepard’s mind. “You’re welcome,” she said to her friend.

Garrus took her hand as she stood, warm and firm and _home._ They retraced their path as the ship came to life around them, soft amber lights showing the way out. Her omni-tool blared with several missed notices when they stepped back into the daylight.

“What the—”

“Shepard!” Cortez ran to them and halted mere steps away. “Where have you been? This entire field started vibrating… look at the grass!” The grass danced wildly under a gentle breeze. Tremors from the ship’s awakening ran up her legs, and with a gasp she realized the true size of the thing. “What is it? What did you see?” His eyes searched hers for a reason to tamp down his fear.

“It’s a ship. This whole field…” Over a kilometer long, nearly as wide. “It’s a ship, Steve, and it’s waking up.” He turned and started running back to the shuttle. Shepard broke into a jog as she radioed Vega. “Vega, what’s your twenty?”

“Point eight klicks into the forest, three o’clock from the shuttle. Commander, you gotta see—”

“Get your asses back to the Kodiak, Vega. Double time. We’ll catch you at the edge.”

“Ten-four Commander.” He shouted something at his team that Shepard only half-heard. The vibrations were getting stronger. The sound of grass roots popping became louder as the dirt started to liquefy. Garrus stumbled and sunk knee deep into the churning quicksand. Shepard flicked him into a lift, her blue aura shunting the hungry particles aside to set him ahead on more solid ground. He recovered quickly to leap onto the hovering Kodiak and reach behind him, hauling her away from the field that wasn’t a field. 

Cortez took them to the forest’s edge where Vega’s tracker pinged. He flew through the tight palm trees and set the shuttle down when they were clear of the treacherous grasses. Shepard jumped out, shouting. A rustle at her two sent her hand to the rifle on her back, but Vega stepped out, whistling, with his hands before him. Another rustle, followed by the sharp nose of a brightly feathered... dinosaur, hot on his trail. She brought her rifle up and aimed, but Vega made a slicing motion with the blade of his hand. He held that hand out, palm forward. The raptor pressed its nose against the meat of his hand and… purred? Shepard retracted the Widow’s barrel. 

Vega looked at her and grinned. “Can I keep him, Commander?” As he spoke his team stepped out, followed by the curious natives. Dinosaurs clicked, whistled and stalked, and Shepard laughed to see these ferocious beasts on parade, a cross between a flock of parrots and a pile of puppies. Strutting up last astride the biggest, most ostentatious raptor, PFC Jesús Riva made his grand entrance. 

Shepard crossed her arms. “I’ll be damned, Jesus is riding a dinosaur. That wacky religious museum was on to something.” The ground shook and his raptor shied away, dumping him in the sandy dirt. She pulled him to his feet. “Alright guys, say goodbye to your new friends and tell them to bug out. The biggest damn ship I’ve ever seen is about to launch, and I’d prefer to be in the nosebleeds when it does.” Riva turned to his dinosaur and flicked a series of biotic pulses toward it. She (again, Shepard was certain it was a she, as well as the leader of this little group) whistled a sharp note, and the four reptiles flocked into a tight formation to disappear into the forest. “O… kay, I didn’t mean literally, but that was very sweet.” She turned and waved them on. “Full debrief on the ship. Move out!”

They piled into the shuttle and Cortez took them several kilometers out, keeping the field in sight. The grass was strewn across the plain, torn and ruined in the light soil. Broad swaths of the silvery metal shone through the dirt and leaves to catch the fading light in glimmers and winks. They saw the ship rise before the cough of ancient thrusters reached the Kodiak, the blast wave shifting them farther away from its makeshift launch. Cortez cursed softly at the helm and held her steady before turning to watch what the ship would do next. Shepard saw him study the emission patterns, attentive to each waver and pulse.

Its rough kite shape became clear as it rose from its shallow resting place. Under the huge ship, Shepard saw the source of their eezo readings. Hundreds of smaller ships, fighters, maybe shuttles, were crushed into silver and blue shards. The live ship shuddered and distracted her from the ruin below. Three clean ridges ran its length, the center one tall and broad with a wave in its topline. Those were the small hills in the field. The side ridges were smooth arcs that met with center at a sharp point in the middle of the longer leading edge, which looked to be the bow. The ship’s berth was hardly deeper than the core bay, a sharp point at the bow that tapered slowly aft and ended as though shorn. It tilted up, up, and even at their distance they could feel the rumble of its secondary thrusters engage. _Twin drive cores,_ Shepard thought, _harmony._ Even the most powerful drive couldn’t maneuver a ship like that in full grav. New thrusters sputtered and caught. The ship ascended slowly at first, but gained speed quickly as gravity loosed its long hold. 

Cortez followed at a distance, and when they left the atmosphere completely, the whole shuttle cheered. The alien ship seemed to shiver in the distance, and a moment later, hundreds of sails unfurled along its hull. They billowed in the sunstream, delicate and beautiful. 

Vega spoke for all of them when he whispered, _“Madre de Dios.”_


	10. Handy Tips for Atmo Control

“Cortez, send a stand down alert to all recon fleet so they don’t blow our new friend out of the sky.” He nodded and turned to his console. “And send one to the Normandy to relay to Hackett. New ally, assign to Crucible fleet.” Cortez sent the first and moved to the next. Outside, the rachni’s new ship gleamed as its sails gathered power from the little star.

Cortez stopped and cocked his head. He turned to Shepard. “Incoming transmission from our new buddy; they’re IDing as Return One.”

She smiled. “On comms.”

“Commander Shepard, this is AI Return One. Your allies are targeting us. We request assistance.”

Shepard signaled Cortez to broadcast to all ships within hailing distance. He gave her a thumbs up when she was live. “Return One, I have broadcast a stand down order. All units will obey that order. All units, welcome Return One to the joint fleet.” She crossed her arms, tapping her bicep with increasing force as the silence stretched on.

“Commander Shepard, locks have released. We have identified a large massing of ships eighteen point four-six light years distant from this planet. Our fuel reserves will reach maximum capacity in two day cycles. This time will also allow for Queen Miu’lanei to return to the surface. Our green chambers have been black for countless cycles, but with her assistance, they will grow once more.”

“Understood, Return One. Recon, this presents an opportunity. Continue eezo recovery as scheduled. Taschky, has your team returned?” Captain Cath Taschky of the SSV Trelion affirmed. “Good. Break formation and take your cargo immediately to the Rissage. Request a full assessment of your biomass samples. I want to know if the turians can eat what’s down there.”

Taschky’s chirping voice sounded once more. “Aye aye, Commander Shepard. Trelion away.” 

“Acknowledged, Trelion. All others, carry on. I’ll be on the Normandy in ten. Shepard out.”

Garrus hummed. “Bug loaf has kept us alive, but real meat would be a significant boost to morale. What would you say our max storage is here?”

“Eezo is our priority, but if we get word it’s good I’ll make sure we get a few steaks for you. It’s up to the Hierarchy to send a supply detachment for the rest of the fleet.”

Garrus tilted a mandible, amused. “We have a saying, ‘A platoon reports first to hunger.’ If the meat’s good, they’ll send a detachment.”

Shepard nodded. “We have a similar saying. The turians certainly deserve a break after all this, here’s hoping you get it. And hey, did you guys catch that? We finally have a name for the rachni queen. She tried to tell me once, but I couldn’t make sense of it.”

“Miu’lanei,” Inali said. “I like it.”

 _Ping._ “Commander Shepard.”

“Yes EDI?”

“I have run a full diagnostic scan of the ship and AI calling itself Return One. They have some fascinating structures and protocols I look forward to discussing with you when you return to the Normandy.”

“The AI just let you in?”

“She contacted me. She has acquiesced to a quarantine period and intends to integrate with the fleet. Her electronic warfare programs are incompatible with ours, so she poses no threat to me. However I also pose no threat to her, short of physical destruction. I am currently dedicating my non-vital servers to deciphering her base code, and estimate a full translation within the next ten hours.”

“EDI. Are you sure that’s safe?”

“She gave me her base code freely, Shepard. She has laid herself open as an organic on the operating table. It is an immense show of trust.”

“Okay, okay. One more question, though. You keep changing between ‘she’ and ‘they.’ Which is it?”

“The AI perceives itself in the feminine. The species that made it was matriarchal, and she was their leader. She and the ship are different entities, however, unlike the Normandy and myself. She pilots the ship, but its dual core system requires two minds, one organic and one artificial. If I have understood correctly, this was a compromise after a conflict similar to the Morning War between quarians and geth. The Reapers arrived soon after, while their numbers were in recovery.”

“Ouch, that tracks. Thank you, EDI. Join us for the mission debrief when we’ve docked.”

“Acknowledged.”

The Normandy loomed in their view screen. Shepard sighed as it grew larger, gleaming in the harsh, unfiltered light. _Will this ever not feel like a homecoming?_ she wondered.

———

The mission debrief was blessedly short. Vega and his team were excited about the new life, and Riva explained how he’d communicated with the lead raptor. They were all vehemently opposed to hunting the raptors for food, comparing their intelligence and social structure to elephants and orcas. 

EDI was deep in the flow of translating the new code, but spared a few processes to display a blueprint of the ship and a short explanation of the most interesting aspects. Green chambers in the center mass of the ship housed plant-based atmo calibration and food production. Blue corridors running on the outermost edges contained massive capacitors that captured and stored the static charge common to all eezo based core tech. _Crucible is going to have a field day with that,_ Shepard thought. Return One was a deep space explorer, the product of a species more advanced and more adventurous than any the galactic community had encountered. 

They had fallen regardless.

She shook her head to clear her mind of its gadfly thoughts. Her attention returned to the long list of messages, some older than the SR-2. Fingers hovered over the keypad, then curled into fists. She leaned against her chair and sipped her whisky.

Garrus stepped around to rub her stiff shoulders. “Still battling the email archive, hm? Third wave in the arena has nothing on a backlog.”

Shepard snorted. “You have that right. I thought it would be easier to delete this stuff after the war, but if anything, it’s harder. Some of these messages, those people are gone. Mordin, Legion… Anderson.”

“Come on, Shepard. They don’t have an expiration date. Keep what matters. Look, you already have a separate file for personal stuff. Move the sentimental… ones… ah. That’s familiar.”

She read the message. “It’s late. Just got up for some water. You’re still asleep. Wanted to say how beautiful I think you are. Love G.” She swiveled her chair to look at him. “You have no idea how that short note sustained me, Garrus. Every time I wanted to stop fighting, I thought of that note. Then I thought of the billions, trillions, of other notes sent by different soldiers, civilians, artists… and I found a way to keep moving. There’s no Shepard without Vakarian.” She kissed his palms and held them. “Without you at my six, believing in me, loving me…” she shrugged. “We would have lost. The cycle would have continued.”

Garrus hmphed. “You would have found a way, Shepard. I’m just a—”

She gripped his hands. “Stop. No more platitudes. You ended this war, just as much as I did. If we are going to survive its aftermath, we will know our worth.”

He sank to one knee, on her level. Clear blue eyes met stormy grey. He tilted his head in agreement. “No Shepard, without Vakarian.” He pressed his mouth against hers. She let him rest there for a moment, then broke the kiss to lean her forehead on his in a turian reply. She released him to sweep his neck with her fingertips as his hands slid up her thighs to rest on her hips. 

“No,” she breathed. “No no no, I need to do this.” She sat back, apologetic but firm. “I need to clean. Here. I’ll make a new folder. ‘Arbor.’” Garrus raised a brow plate. “It means a lot of things, but at the conservatory, in the older theaters, an arbor is part of the stage, the fly system. You load the arbor with weight equal to the burden it carries.” She was quiet for a moment. “When it’s balanced, one person can move the world.” She thought a moment longer, and chuckled. “Not all at once, of course. So, here is my arbor. All the little notes, the messages, the strategies and the late night chats will go in here. My counterweight.”

Garrus dipped his head, rose to his feet, and sighed. “It hardly seems like enough…” 

Shepard smiled as she turned back to her monitor. “It’s worth all the pig iron on Earth.” She heard him rumble behind her, but returned to her screen with renewed focus. “We’ll catch up later, Gare-bear. Promise.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and left their quarters to make his rounds. 

She scrolled a bit, checking all the old messages of war gaming and politicking. Delete. The updated list brought an unopened message to the top of her screen. She stared at the header, the blue on blue text, his profile photo. She opened the last words of a dead man.

_Hell of a mess down here. Could’ve been a lot worse, though. Thanks._

She crossed her arms on the desk, rested her forehead on them, and tried to remember how to breathe. 

———

Twenty hours later, Taschky gave recon the go ahead to fill their remaining stores with fresh food for the turian forces. A detachment of ships with nutri-processors was on the way, along with a quarian vessel. Shepard sent Garrus down with Inali, Riva, and Hal for their own portion of the bounty. The system was entered in the charts and claimed for the turians with little fanfare. Far as it was from relays, colonization of any kind was lifetimes away. 

She stalked the ship, rattled and out of sorts. The fourth time she approached Singh’s quarters, she forced her feet to stop at his door. A cheery green light glowed in the control. The doctor was in. She pressed the button.

The fresh scent of flowers and mint greeted her when the door opened. She breathed deep, calm settling around her like a mantle. She rolled her shoulders and walked through his tapestry hall, trailing her fingers along the embroidery as always. A shushing whispered in the hall, muffled by the fabric. She saw Dr. Singh at his desk on rounding the corner, flipping through a thick sheaf of real paper. The sound had sharper edges without the hall buffering its waves, and her fingers twitched at the ghost of paper cuts past. She cleared her throat.

“Commander Shepard! I wondered when you might darken my door again. Please, make yourself comfortable. Will you have tea? I’ve a pot of jasmine brewing, but if you prefer decaffeinated…”

“Jasmine, thank you.”

“Excellent, excellent. Excuse me, I was looking through my old notes and if I don’t finish now, I may never pick them up again.”

She huffed, rueful. “Seems we’re all looking a bit backward lately. I took that trip down memory lane yesterday, cleared my inbox of old war correspondence.”

He turned to look at her then. “Ah, and how was that? Were there any, surprises?”

“A few. Found one from a friend who… well, he was head of C-Sec in the embassies. It got lost in the flurry of email after the failed Cerberus coup… which you probably are hearing about for the first time.” Dr. Singh tilted his head at a professionally ambiguous angle. “He didn’t make it. His family didn’t, either.” She sat on the chaise with a huff and flopped against the back, jiggling her foot on the floor. “I’ve felt jittery since. Wound up. Uncomfortable. Didn’t sleep last night. Almost as bad as the war, waiting to be aimed at something.”

“Commander Shepard.”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, it helps to have a name for things.”

“What, you’ll call my demons by their true names and banish them?”

His lips twitched in a soft half smile. He slid narrow strips of paper between the sheets he marked with his thumb and forefinger and let the file close. She watched his slow, deliberate choosing of porcelain teacups and saucers, the reverence with which he lifted the steaming pot of tea from its trivet, the even stream of pale amber liquid as he poured. She felt half hypnotized by the time he moved from his desk to her side, teacup neatly balanced on its saucer, a scallop-edged biscuit leaning just so.

She accepted his offering and nibbled the sweet, malty biscuit as he settled into his chair. “Tell me about your head of C-Sec. I sense a history there.”

She took a breath. She sipped her tea. She closed her eyes. “Commander Bailey. He was a bit rough and tumble, the kind of lawman who could walk into the old American west without a hiccup.” A smile flitted over her features. “I asked him for help and chewed him out for mistreating suspects within five minutes of meeting him, and he never batted an eye. That was…almost four years ago.” She stared into her cup. “Feels like a lifetime.”

He opened a program on his omni-tool, and a soft, rhythmic chime sounded. “Shepard. I want you to tell me about the last time you saw him. As you do, I would like you to look from this lamp,” he indicated a desk lamp with a colorful cut glass shade to his left, “to this lamp,” another, its shade a stretched and embroidered cloth on his right. “with each chime.” 

She studied each lamp with no thought to the chime at first, but as the low, pleasant sound continued, she fell into its rhythm. A minute passed in silence, then two, then five. Dr. Singh waited and watched her eyes flick from left to right, left to right. She spoke. As she spoke, her words were measured as the chime, unhurried, natural. She told him about the coup attempt, finding Bailey injured after the first firefight, blood on the Presidium. The chime drew her on. The dead executor, the living salarian, Thane’s final battle, Kai Leng. Left-right, left-right. The flight to the commons, civilians fleeing gunfire, some returning gunfire. C-Sec, scattered, no match for Cerberus and their “improved” shock troops. Blood on the commons. Blood in the grass. Left-right, left-right. Bailey in her ear, take the elevators, left-right. Bailey stalling the intruders, stopping their elevator on every floor, a quick smile then it’s gone. Left-right. Ash and the Council, Udina, malicious, throws the asari to the ground. Shepard takes her shot. They whirl, ready for Kai Leng but it’s Bailey. She nearly kills him. Right-left, right-left. The chime faded. A few minutes passed in silence.

“Why did I tell you about that? I saw him after… we had whole conversations about duty and family”

“Perhaps that was the last time you were able to see him, and not the trauma,” Singh replied. “Someone dear to you was brutally slain, and another you’d loved held a gun to your chest. ‘Blood on the commons, blood in the grass.’ You’ve been stuck in a loop, Shepard.” He sipped his tea, and she remembered her own. The hot liquid soothed the rawness in her throat. “Your body seems to be at rest,” he glanced down to her foot, now still on the thick rug. “How do you feel?”

“Mm. Distant. I see the attack, but I can’t feel it.”

He nodded. “This should give you some relief. Finding his message sent you back to that place, that loop. Looking between the two points helps your brain process these memories properly, as events which occurred in the past. In time, you will not fall into them so easily.” She swirled the dregs of her tea. He offered another biscuit, but she turned it down. He hummed. “I really must return to my papers but please, stay here as long as you like.” He rose from his chair and held out his hand for her cup and saucer. She handed them over absently, lost in her thoughts. He turned to his office.

“Singh?” He glanced over. “Thanks.” He tilted his head, and returned to his desk. She meditated, listening to the ship murmur and dry rustle of papers until her omni-tool chimed. Garrus and his team had returned. She left for the shuttle bay.

———

“Hal! Where is my fantastic shrinking quarian? Hal!” Garrus lolled in his seat and smacked the bench beside him. Hal’Inzu ducked at the sound of his name and again at the slap, and Shepard elbowed her mate. “Aw c’mon, Shep. Haa-aal! Join us!”

Shepard hooked her arm around his waist, wrinkling her nose the sweet, coppery stink of bloody dextro meat and brandy rolling off him. When she suggested a meal to celebrate the Hierarchy’s new garden world, she hadn’t anticipated she’d be wrangling a roaringly drunk turian a few hours later. _Definitely should have done the research,_ she thought with a grimace.

Hal sidled over to Garrus, who stood to pull him into a most un-turian hug complete with hearty back slaps. “This guy. I never tasted a steak so good in my life! Hal.” Garrus released the dazed quarian and turned his spinning gaze on the others in the mess. “Hal! A cheer for Hal’Inzu nar Chayym!” 

The drink had flowed freely that evening, evident in the waver of the answering uproar. Hands reached out to slap Hal’s shoulder or pump his arm, and Shepard was sure that if he knew how to disappear entirely, he would have. She made eye contact with Tali and gestured to Hal with a knowing wink. Tali rolled her eyes but wove through the crowd to him, snagging a cocktail as she passed the galley. She handed it to him and pulled him from the group, and Shepard heard something about an emergency induction port as he was escorted away.

Shepard returned to her dinner. She picked at scraps of rare steak crusted with pepper and herbs, a small handful of slender golden frites complete with wobbly mayo, and the last forkful or two of the bright, ship-grown salad she loved so much. Hal had made a very similar dish for the three dextro-tarians with game and forage taken from the planet below, but only the food on Garrus’s plate had looked anything like his levo offering. Shepard smiled at the shiver in the air as her turian thrummed his way through the last of his feast. His team had taken a massive herbivore, three trips in the shuttle to bring it on board even after Inali and Hal had broken it down, and now had dextro steaks, roasts, and sausage enough to reach Horsehead. 

Drunken shenanigans aside, it had been a good day. They’d been granted forty additional hours in the system while the turians filled their larder. EDI had broken the time into shifts for the crew to enjoy a few hours planetside. Shepard was wary to the point of superstition regarding shore leave, but even she and Garrus had a morning shift set aside for coffee and kava by the shallow inland sea. It wasn’t retiring by the ocean, but it would do for the moment.


	11. Silence Is Golden

Days flowed into weeks, marked by their drill forms, club meetings, and movie nights. Crucible fleet had welcomed Return One and dispatched a small team to live and work on the ship as they resumed the trek to Horsehead. The AI welcomed them and the levo flora they’d brought, a gift for the second green chamber and the rachni queen. Shepard deleted the final wartime email late one night, and immediately received a new message from Hackett. She closed the program.

Rather than read a mid-priority email from the ranking admiral, she flopped onto the bed next to her _boyfriend_ and exhaled noisily. He laid a hand over her face, which she licked. He groaned and wiped it on her shorts as she giggled. His hand rested on her belly as she laid on her back, the artificial gravity sinking into her muscles and weighing on her bones. 

“It’s done,” she said.

“Mmph?”

“I pronounce this inbox, clean.”

“Mm.”

“Sleepy turian.”

“Mmhm.”

“Hey, did you run the extra dino steaks and ant boxes to the processing ship during the last discharge stop?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Did you?”

“Yesss. Go sleep.”

She grumbled. Then her stomach grumbled. That wouldn’t do. She rolled out of bed to rummage in her snack stash, much to her formerly resting partner’s chagrin. She cobbled together a late night snack of jerky, plantain chips, and some fresh sugar peas from Hal’s garden, and did her level best to eat it quietly. Much to her chagrin, the snack gave her a second wind. She slipped her boots on and tossed a hoodie over her loose top, and left for the CIC.

The Normandy always felt a touch eerie during third shift. The lights throughout the ship were dim and filtered to a warm amber to help the humans sleep. A skeleton crew manned the most important stations, a handful of points in daylight blue, bright in the otherwise sepia-toned CIC. Shepard stepped up to the galaxy map and selected the night setting before activating it. The slow swirl of the Milky Way spread before her, their progress green against the red line of the fleet’s charted course. A small clock counted down the hours to their arrival at Horsehead, less than a hundred as of that morning. She opened her messages. 

_Shepard. No word from salarians as of 1900. Fleet has been in range since 1200 and sending a hail on all frequencies. Last message from salarian ops confirmed successful mass relay test from HH to SK, related ongoing effort to link to Exodus. Received as we left that system. Turians unconcerned but it’s making me itchy. Four days to HH. Stay sharp._

Quiet salarians made Shepard itchy, too. Her mind picked up a gallop as it conjured possible scenarios, maybe a rogue Dalatrass turned against them, still upset with the genophage cure, perhaps a batarian attack, unexpected and vicious from a people with a squadron of FTL ships and nothing left to lose. She sucked her teeth. There was nothing they could do, yet. She wrote a reply.

_First thing we should have heard was successful mass relay to Exodus and Earth. We should be wading through Dal requests, casualty stats, and tech updates by now. Something stopped the work. Consider deploying long range recon before entering the system, even if they respond._

She hit send and closed the map. The wireframe ship popped back up to replace it, all systems nominal. Six hours before shift change. Her eyes felt dry and gritty, and she shivered as a chill unrelated to the air temperature settled under her skin. She stepped down from command and returned to her quarters.

———

Three and a half days dragged their hashed feet through a swamp of meetings and dread. Still no word from Sur’Kesh, and even the turians were on edge. Exactly one ship of salarian origin had been found in the system, orbiting the active relay silent as a moon. They assumed combat formation, warships to the fore and Crucible fleet behind, with Hackett’s Ranger bringing up the rear, bristling with long cannons and quick, deadly fighters. Return One flew alongside the Normandy for the approach, her powerful, exotic scanners an indispensable asset to recon fleet. The AI hailed them.

Shepard shifted her weight on the command platform. “Go ahead, Return One.”

“Commander Shepard. We are reading life forms on the salarian ship. They are unusual.”

“How’s that?”

“They are immobile.”

She shuddered. Still salarians were worse than quiet ones. “Are they asleep?”

“Negative. They are immobile.”

“Acknowledged, Return One. Maintain headings and increase power to shields. These are our friends.” _Or they were,_ she added silently.

“Acknowledged, Commander Shepard. Return One out.”

Four hours to Horsehead.

…

Shepard stood behind Joker. The relay winked in the distance, its eezo core a cool, welcoming star. They had no visual of the salarian ship against its massive form, but they knew it was a frigate of intermediate size, rigged with Thanix cannon and CBT shields. Both were armed. The friendly hails had continued uninterrupted since they reached radio contact. None were answered. Sur’Kesh may have been listening, but they weren’t talking. An empty cargo vessel was sent on an approach run to the relay. The salarian frigate did not register its presence. The cargo ship rode the relay, a cheerful ping every second as it transmitted position, velocity, and heading. It was flung out of this system and into the next. It sent thirty pulses originating from the Annos Basin, and fell silent.

Shepard ran a hand through her hair. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she muttered to herself. Something was absolutely putrid in Denmark, but they couldn’t see the source of the rot. The fleet drew nearer to the relay, and the salarian ship resolved out of the darkness. It had ceased orbiting and instead sat between the bulk of the fleet and the relay, a pebble between two mountains. 

Swift chatter erupted over the comms. The admirals fought over what to do, whether to board or avoid, assist or eliminate. The turians suggested a compromise, and the humans assented. A squadron of Hierarchy fighters split from the main formation and headed to the relay, skirting the salarian’s range. The silent ship turned to intercept. Ice white lightning erupted from the bow of Return One and struck the salarian frigate, engulfing the ship's midsection in an orb of pure energy that vaporized everything within. The drive core eezo flashed in a brilliant blue arc as the containing field wrenched apart, a halo that grew and spread like ripples in a still pool. This secondary explosion sent jagged, shining fragments into the void away from the turian squadron, and in the space of a single breath, all weapons were locked on Return One.

Return One, and the Normandy. Shepard froze, breath caught in her throat as the uncanny architecture of the geth dreadnought flashed before her eyes, quarian torpedoes tearing through the unshielded ship as she raced to the little geth fighter, Tali struck, floating away, Legion _ah, Legion_ hauling her to safety. It was happening again.

“Hackett to all units. All units target the alien ship known as Return One. Recon, retreat from the alien vessel. Retreat immediately.”

Shepard found her voice. “Wait! This is Commander Shepard, belay that order!” She gripped the back of Joker's chair. “Hackett, wait.”

Fury edged Hackett’s reply. “You don’t give orders here, Shepard. That ship just obliterated a vessel belonging to one of our oldest allies. Retreat and stand down.”

She gritted her teeth. “I will not. You know this isn’t right, Hackett. Quiet salarians? Ships disappearing in Annos?”

“Flight Lieutenant Moreau, you will remove the Normandy to a safe distance, or I will personally see to it that you will never fly again.”

“Don’t you dare threaten my crew, Hackett. Joker, we are staying right here.”

EDI broke in. “Admiral Hackett, Commander Shepard. I have something you need to hear.”

“Not now, EDI,” Shepard and Hackett said together.

EDI continued as though they hadn’t. “This is the last transmission from the salarian vessel to Sur’Kesh seconds before its destruction. It is pertinent to our situation.” 

She played the recording. Harsh static filled the air, punctuated with atonal whining and wails of feedback. Everyone in the Normandy CIC covered their ears, and Shepard was certain the rest of the fleet was doing the same.

Under the wall of noise, there was a clicking and a fizzing distortion, like raw meat hitting a hot pan over and over. Then she heard it. The inhaled gasp, the swallowed scream, the choking gears grinding flesh. Shepard’s stomach heaved. She swallowed the bile back down. Only one thing in the galaxy made that noise. 

_Reapers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update! I'm still working on this, promise!


	12. Identify Friend / Foe

EDI’s sound file ended. Light static crackled on the comms as every living soul in the fleet processed what they’d heard. _It was too good to be true,_ Shepard thought, _it was all too easy. Reapers dead, allies alive, my own body…_ Return One’s AI interrupted her thoughts.

“We regret the loss of your allies,” the soothing female voice said to each member of the fleet. “We chose to protect those who had welcomed us. If our actions preclude us from continuing with the fleet, we will accept your judgment.”

Primarch Victus broke the following silence. “All Hierarchy units, stand down.”

Hackett cleared his throat. “All Alliance units, follow suit and stand down. Shepard. You were right this time, but we will have words about your persistent inability to follow orders.”

Shepard grimaced. “I look forward to it, Admiral, but we have more pressing matters right now. If that salarian ship was carrying Reaper forces—”

Hackett finished her thought. “The others might flood through the relay at any moment. Joint fleet, execute staggered retreat delta-two and reconvene at Veles.”

The fleet engaged in an intricate dance of doubled triangles, one that advanced, and one that fell back. The maneuver took half an hour to complete. The Normandy went dark and remained to observe the relay traffic. There was none. They rejoined the fleet at the distant, rocky planet when Hackett gave the all-clear. 

Shepard changed into her dress blues and waited to be summoned to the Ranger. Garrus perched on the edge of the bed as she straightened her ribbons in the mirror.

“How many asses do we have to pull out of the fire before he stops doubting me?” Shepard grumbled.

“You did defy him in front of the entire fleet. It’s not a good look for the Alliance.”

“The Crucible team was still on Return One! He had guns pointed at our own people! You and I know exactly what that feels like.”

“He was following protocol, Shepard. They vaporized a Salarian ship with no provocation.”

“Jesus, Garrus! Whose side are you on?”

She stalked out of the bathroom to pace their dance floor. “Shepard. Sloane. Stop.” She glared at him. “I'm on your side, always." He took her hand and guided her to sit next to him. "I'm on your side, but sometimes that means pulling you out of the fire." She rolled her eyes. He stroked her back, pausing on the place the bullet had passed through her armor. The skin was healed, but the memory was tender. She shivered.

"Where's the fire this time?"

"Well, first it's with your admiral. You may not always see eye to eye, but he's a good man, Shepard, and a good leader. So long as you hold on to your place in the Alliance, you are his subordinate." She scowled and he held up his hands. "I don't claim to understand your chain of command. I'm only laying out why he reacted like he did. Second, and more importantly, how well do you really know our new friends? Rachni? An AI that's been around longer than your species? Are they worth your life? Are they worth the Normandy?"

She scoffed. "I wouldn't be here if not for the rachni, nor would thousands of people they dug out of the cities. The old queen held her end of our agreement and more. The young one sang to me when I was healing. How many times do they need to prove themselves? And the ship..." she sighed. "You weren't there when Hal and I brought her seedlings. She radiated joy, Garrus. Joy in flight, joy in being part of something greater after so many years alone. She risked everything protecting the turian fighters. I could do no less for her." She turned to him. "But Garrus. What about the recording? Reapers?"

"They're dead. They have to be."

She shook her head. "Think about it, G. I chose complete annihilation for all higher tech, but EDI's still here. The geth are still here. Hell, _I_ am still here, with all of my artificial parts and pieces. How small did the destruction go? And how thorough? Was the limit a body or a cell? And... could it be reversed?" 

Garrus’s eyes widened. “You think the salarians brought one back.”

“I can’t rule it out.”

“Spirits.”

“Yeah.”

 _Ping._ “Commander Shepard.”

“Are they ready for me, EDI?”

“Cortez has the shuttle waiting, Commander.”

“On my way.”

“Acknowledged.”

Shepard began to rise. Garrus pulled her down He wrapped her in his arms, his subvocals thrumming in worry. She brought her hands up to rest on his neck, thumbs stroking the edge of his cheek plates.

She sighed and leaned back. “You’re in charge, so keep the crew steady. They’re scared. This is more than they signed up for.

He hummed, releasing her. The called the elevator together. He got out on the next level, and she rode alone to the shuttle bay.

…

Shepard was admitted into Hackett’s conference room. The highest ranking members of five different species fell silent and turned to look at her. 

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.

“Shepard,” Hackett said, “Kind of you to join us. Have a seat.” He gestured to an empty chair on his left. She eased herself down, smoothing wrinkles from the thick cloth. “Let’s get to business, now that we’re all here.”

The Crucible reps, a salarian and an asari, were first to present. They had decoded the Reaper transmission to Sur’Kesh that was received somewhere in Talat, the capital city and Linron seat of power. The message was simple: They are here. The salarian relayed the number of warships, including dreadnoughts with stealth capabilities, that were available to Dalatrass Linron by the end of the Reaper invasion. He advised the admirals to stay on high alert, reminding them that the salarian military preferred to claim victory by subterfuge. In closing, he pointed out that they’d put themselves in a dangerous position by convening on one ship, and recommended concluding the meeting with haste. 

Primarch Victus spoke next. “Seems our secrets are all out. The salarians know we are here, and we know they are… compromised. I have a squadron of my best fighters with eyes on the relay, so we’ll know if they send more through. The stealthed dreadnoughts are a concern, however. They could be patrolling this system now, and we wouldn’t know until it was too late. I propose dividing the fleet into smaller flotillas and spreading throughout the system until further notice.”

“I agree,” Hackett said. “Lindholm will lead the greater part of the Alliance fleet in a near quadrant. Victus, spread your ships evenly around the others. I’ll keep the Ranger and one wolfpack with Crucible. The safest place should be the far side of the gas giant Svarog. The radiation from Pax and her nearest planet should be sufficient to scramble their long range scanners.” The others nodded. It was a solid plan. He turned to her. “Shepard.” She stiffened. “You’re late.” 

“We were monitoring the relay to cover your retreat, sir. I didn’t want the turian squadron caught flat footed if there was an answer from Sur’Kesh.”

He grumbled. “Shepard, remind me. Who is in charge here?”

Her eyes glinted steel. “You are, sir.”

“If that's so, what gave you the authority to belay a direct order?”

“As one of very few Spectres in this fleet, and the only one operating in the open, I do have that authority in some situations. Sir.”

“You accepted your reinstatement from Anderson, Commander. Are you Alliance, or are you not?”

Her gut clenched. “That's your call to make, Admiral, but you should consider what the Alliance would lose in cutting ties with its first Spectre.”

He leaned forward. “Shepard. I am not your enemy.”

She slapped the table. “Tell that to the Crucible team on Return One. You aimed every single gun in the joint fleet at them.” She flicked her eyes at Zaal’Koris. “I can tell you, exactly, what that feels like.”

“Return One fired on an allied vessel! As the ranking admiral, there was only one course of action open to me. I had no choice but isolate the aggressor.”

She hummed. “You were following protocol. I understand.” He raised his brows. "However, and I think most of us at this table would agree, we're pretty far removed from protocol out here."

Primarch Victus broke in. “Humans. We can continue this scintillating dialogue at a time when we are not under immediate threat from a surprise attack. By Council law, Shepard outranks every one of us, and is entitled to a fully crewed ship.” He glared at Hackett. “The Hierarchy is prepared to provide crew and ship if the Alliance are unwilling to fulfill their obligations.” He turned to Shepard. “Spectre. I have a proposition for you.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“We must assume that Sur’Kesh and the greater Annos Basin are hostile. I have two Cabal units on standby. They have been briefed and are prepared to mount a recon mission through the relay to Annos. Their ships are equipped with the same stealth technology as the Normandy, and have proven as capable on quick strike and recon missions. I would be honored if the Normandy would lead them.”

“The decoy lasted just over thirty seconds past the relay. Are they prepared for a fight on the other side?”

Victus lifted his mandible in a smirk. “Naturally.”

“Then I accept.” Victus leaned forward as though to rise. Shepard cleared her throat, and he tilted his head in a question. “There is one last thing before we disperse.” He lowered himself back to the seat. “Have you considered that the salarians might have not only tinkered with parts?”

The salarian looked green, well, greener, about the gills. The asari made a close study of her hands. Hackett pinched the bridge of his nose, while Zaal’Koris and Victus narrowed their eyes at her. Victus recovered first.

“What are you saying, Shepard?” he asked.

“I am saying,” she spread her hands flat on the table. It was smooth and cool, solid and reassuring. “I am saying, we must consider the possibility that the salarians found a way to resurrect a Reaper. When I engaged the Catalyst, I was told it would wipe out all artificial life. All higher tech.” She flexed, small dents forming in the metal under her fingertips. “But, some got through. My ship’s EDI system was based partly on Reaper tech. My crew found a way to wake her. My own enhancements are based on the same, hell, I’m at least half cyborg, and I’m walking around just dandy. The quarians? Completely dependent on higher tech to survive, and they’re still here. The thread that ties it all together, is organic interference. And if any organic would have the technical ability and the moral flexibility to resurrect a fallen Reaper…”

The salarian scientist cleared his throat. “Thanix cannon, geth upgrades, the mass effect itself, all Reaper advances. If possible gains outweigh probable risk by more than three orders of magnitude, a strong Dalatrass will certainly dedicate resources to claim them for herself.” He paused. “You haven’t angered any Dalatrasses lately, have you, Shepard?”

She groaned. “Ah, good. Another round of Pin the Blame on the Shepard. Yes. Linron was… disappointed, that I chose to cure the genophage rather than allow STG’s clever sabotage to proceed.”

“Krogan fertility problematic. Krogan culture, also problematic. Dalatrass Linron’s disappointment, as you say, understandable, but…” he breathed in through his nose, so much like Mordin that Shepard’s heart ached. “Reaper tech, too dangerous. Cost, always too great. Regrettable,” he sniffed. “Sur’Kesh untouched by Reapers during invasion. Would have preferred it stayed that way.”

Hackett snorted. “So. What does the battle for Sur’Kesh look like with a Reaper involved?”

The salarian hesitated. “Insufficient data. Reconnaissance first. Shepard.” She focused on him. “Look for outpost orbiting Dragel. Outside Dalatrass sphere of influence. They will assist, if extant.” He smiled. “Our mutual acquaintance sends his regards, and wishes health to, your quiet friend.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “Glad to hear he survived.” She stood. “Primarch, Admirals, Doctors,” they also rose. “We have a strategy. Let’s move out.” 

Hackett waited for the room to clear. “Shepard,” he said. She looked at him, pokerfaced. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you court-martialed for insubordination and thrown in the brig for your little stunt out there.”

“Hackett, if I were anyone else, we would all be Reaper food. From the sound of things, you might have a chance to see what that means.” She let a feral gleam shine from her eyes; eyes that have seen too much. He grimaced. “Lead the fleet, Admiral, but do not second guess me. What you’ve seen in numbers, I’ve seen in blood.” The gleam faded, swallowed completely by the career soldier who stood before him. A small chill ran up her spine. It had been ages since she’d been well enough to call the beast. She rolled her shoulders. “I should go.”

She felt him watch her leave.

…

Garrus had the Normandy prepped by the time she and Cortez docked. He stepped down from command at her approach, a cocked eye plate as she passed by. She stepped up to the opened system map to see the Cabal ships en route to their rendezvous point opposite the relay squadron. A few seconds later they blipped off the map, stealth systems engaged. 

“Tali, I need you in engineering to keep us cool. Garrus, main battery. We don’t know what kind of resistance will meet us on the other side. Vega, assemble a ground team. Ready stations?” They all reported in. “Okay team, we’re headed to hostile territory. The salarian homeworld has been compromised. They've always been smart and deadly, assume they are smarter and deadlier with their… upgrades.” A murmur whispered through the CIC. “We’ve seen it all before, folks. Let’s go perform some random acts of liberation. Oorah!”

“Oorah!”

“Joker, go dark and take us to the rendezvous point.”

“Aye aye, Commander.”

It was a small system. They approached the rendezvous within the hour, a friendly ping to alert the Cabal ships to their presence. The turian frigates were strikingly similar to the SR-2, though they were straight where the Normandy curved, and had one pair of thrusters to the Normandy’s two. The lead ship hailed them.

“SSV Normandy, this is Commander Therux of the THS Alaetus. Kietu of the Lautos has volunteered to go first through the relay. Our ships are outfitted with a simplified QEC that will communicate the status of the other side in real time. Commander Shepard, she is waiting for your mark to start their run.”

“Acknowledged, Therux. Kietu, begin approach run.”

“10-4, Shepard. This is the Lautos on approach to the relay. See you on the other side, Commanders.”

The Lautos flashed her thrusters and traced an arc to the relay. Shepard held her breath as the mass effect field reached for the little frigate, gathered around it, and catapulted it into the unknown. She didn’t let it out until Therux broke the silence.

“Shepard. Jump successful. Lautos reports unusual readings near the SK relay but no contact. Initiating approach run now.”

“10-4, Therux. We’re right behind you.”

The relay flashed, and Alaetus disappeared from the system. They were going in blind. 

“Show time, Joker. Take us through, keep us close.”

“You got it, Commander. Initiating approach.”

The relay loomed. Static prickled along her skin, raising each hair on her lower arms and the nape of her neck. Tali vented heat and the Normandy flashed on every ship’s radar in the system for a fraction of a second, the relay grabbed them, and they were gone.

They arrived in the shadow of the Annos relay. Nothing showed on the radar, so Shepard left the CIC to stand behind Joker to get a visual of their surroundings. The turian ships drifted to port, small in the distance. They flashed their thrusters once to acknowledge the Normandy’s arrival, then lowered them to a slow burn that would take them on a recon tour of the system. EDI entered Dragel’s coordinates at the far side of the star system into the nav program, and they went the opposite way.

EDI turned to her. “Shepard. We are being watched.”

“Kietu mentioned unusual readings. Any intel on who it is?”

She paused. “The emissions do not match any known Reaper signatures. They are similar to one STG prototype vessel, however, it was recorded lost in its test run.”

“Lost, huh?”

“Perhaps it was recovered.”

“Perhaps. Maintain headings, Joker. If they are STG, they already know our destination. If not, the base should be capable of handling unexpected guests.” 

They skirted a narrow asteroid field that glittered with broken fighters from a recent battle. The jagged parts were all of salarian make with call signs belonging to several factions, but alliances and divides were impossible to read. Clan Linron figured prominently in the destruction. They cleared the field and entered the fourth planet’s orbital rim. Shepard risked an area scan. It revealed a cluster of fighters lead by a cruiser orbiting Sur’Kesh, and another, smaller formation circling the system’s only gas giant. Joker adjusted their course and they slipped quietly by.

Shepard left the flight deck to contact Hackett on the QEC. She sent the scraps of intel they’d managed to gather, and was updated on the Cabal ships’ location and data. They had found wreckage as well, all salarian, the casualties also heavily Linron. Narra and STG were also represented, as well as a handful of smaller clans. The turians were on their way to scan Sur’Kesh, then rendezvous at Dragel. Joker called her back to the flight deck. She thanked Hackett, and left the comm room at a run.

“What have we got, Joker?” she asked. 

“Well, that sad little rock is Dragel, but if there’s a space station out here, I’m a hanar prostitute.”

Shepard chuckled. “This one is titillated by the possibility.” Joker rolled his eyes. “What do we know about this base. It’s an STG outpost, so it is constantly updated with cutting edge tech. It’s not on any maps, which means its orbit is non-standard.”

EDI lifted her head. “Dragel is small, but dense. A sufficiently advanced station could maintain orbit at a significant distance.” She selected a quadrant of seemingly empty space and began a close ladar scan of the area. The bottom corner of her search pinged back. She adjusted the parameters, and conjured a space station out of the vacuum. “Commander, they are hailing us.”

“Put them on.”

“SSV Normandy, right on schedule. Main bay ready for you and our escort. Dock and report.”

“Hang on. Who are you, and how did you know we were coming?”

“Lieutenant General Besl Junol. Back channels. Miniaturized quantum communicators. STG, always listening. Where do you think salarian Spectres come from?”

Shepard frowned. “So, he knew about the Reapers the whole time?”

Static popped in the silence before Junol continued. “Reaper situation, recent. Had hoped to control influence, root out source. Linron clan, too powerful. Too desperate. We underestimated them.” A sniff. “Not often STG fails to strike first blow. Still. We are here. You are here. Linrons occupied in Sur’Kesh, will not send additional ships through relay. Fleet contact knows of dreadnought in Horsehead system, currently tracking heat signatures. Expect his all clear before end of third shift.”

Shepard sighed. “I’m trusting you, Junol. Don’t let me down.”

“That is wise, Commander. Normandy has less than one hour left before heat reaches critical. Our station is equipped to vent quickly and safely, but only from within.” Shepard grumbled, and the salarian laughed. “Don’t be upset. An old friend is on his way to greet you. We will see you soon, Shepard.”

“Tell him to bring snacks. We’ve been flying for hours.”

“It will be arranged. Junol out.”

The station had appeared on screen in the course of their conversation, a massive, dark system of cold spinning rings that could be seen only if one knew precisely where to look with ladar or visuals. Joker found their bay and picked up speed to match the spin, a breezy 800 kph to simulate roughly one G of artificial gravity without using mass effect fields. 

Vega’s team disembarked first, guns drawn. Shepard watched a feed at command, and Joker kept the engines hot. Riva took point, his biotics sparking as he kept a charge at the ready should the need to bug out arise. A pair of salarians awaited them at the head of a long table, their hands both steady and visible. Shepard zoomed in to get a better look at the salarian on the right. Large scales covered his forehead, paler than his brown skin, and a cluster of black lines streaked down his chin. His partner said something to him. He smiled, and a scar twisted his lip. 

She radioed the ground team. “At ease, Vega. They’re on our side.” 

Vega gave the signal, slinging his shotgun behind his back. Riva’s biotics flickered out and he shook his hands. Shepard’s tingled in sympathy; withdrawing that kind of power was unpleasant at best. Joker started the shutdown sequence and EDI approved the dock and vent protocol initiated by the station. A slight jolt rocked the ship as they locked in. Shepard’s stomach flipped when the Normandy’s mass effect grav was subsumed by the station’s spin grav. Garrus joined her in the CIC, and together they walked the short corridor to the salarian welcome wagon. The brown, speckled salarian grinned at her, but his silver eyes were tired.

“Commander Shepard.” He held out his hand. She took it and they shook warmly.

“Major Kirrahe. We really must stop meeting like this.”


End file.
